ed to make a break. Of course, any such giving in would
be very awkward for a young woman who shrieked out on platforms that old
maids were the highest type. Adeline guessed Olive had perfect control
of her now, unless indeed she used the expeditions to Cambridge as a
cover for meeting gentlemen. She was an artful little minx, and cared as
much for the rights of women as she did for the Panama Canal; the only
right of a woman she wanted was to climb up on top of something, where
the men could look at her. She would stay with Olive as long as it
served her purpose, because Olive, with her great respectability, could
push her, and counteract the effect of her low relations, to say nothing
of paying all her expenses and taking her the tour of Europe. "But, mark
my words," said Mrs. Luna, "she will give Olive the greatest cut she has
ever had in her life. She will run off with some lion-tamer; she will
marry a circus-man!" And Mrs. Luna added that it would serve Olive
Chancellor right. But she would take it hard; look out for tantrums
then!

Basil Ransom's emotions were peculiar while his hostess delivered
herself, in a manner at once casual and emphatic, of these rather
insidious remarks. He took them all in, for they represented to him
certain very interesting facts; but he perceived at the same time that
Mrs. Luna didn't know what she was talking about. He had seen Verena
Tarrant only twice in his life, but it was no use telling him that she
was an adventuress--though, certainly, it _was_ very likely she would
end by giving Miss Chancellor a cut. He chuckled, with a certain
grimness, as this image passed before him; it was not unpleasing, the
idea that he should be avenged (for it would avenge him to know it) upon
the wanton young woman who had invited him to come and see her in order
simply to slap his face. But he had an odd sense of having lost
something in not knowing of the other girl's appearance at the Women's
Convention--a vague feeling that he had been cheated and trifled with.
The complaint was idle, inasmuch as it was not probable he could have
gone to Boston to listen to her; but it represented to him that he had
not shared, even dimly and remotely, in an event which concerned her
very closely. Why should he share, and what was more natural than that
the things which concerned her closely should not concern him at all?
This question came to him only as he walked home that evening; for the
moment it remained q