on his part. She felt, too, that at last she had
got the better of the ironical doctor in repartee, and that he was
taking his leave tongue-tied. In truth, he was so angry that he did not
trust himself to speak. He simply glared and departed.

"Poor fellow," she said, by way of explanation to Lyons, "I suppose his
emotion got the better of him, because he has loved her so long. That
was the Dr. Page who has been crazy for years to marry Pauline
Littleton. When he was young he married a woman of doubtful character,
who ran away from him. I used to think that Pauline was right in
refusing to sacrifice her life for his sake. But he has been very
constant, and I doubt if she has originality enough to keep her position
as president of Wetmore long. He belongs to the old school of medicine.
It was he who took care of Wilbur when he died. I fancy that case may
have taught him not to mistrust truth merely because it isn't labelled.
But I bear him no malice, because I know he meant to do his best. They
are just suited for each other, and I shall be on his side after this."

The interest of this episode served to restore somewhat Selma's
serenity, but she kept her attention fixed on the table where the
Williamses were sitting, observing with a sense of injury their gay
behavior. To all appearances, Flossy was as light-hearted and volatile
as ever. Her attire was in the height of fashion. Had adversity taught
her nothing? Had the buffet of Providence failed utterly to sober her
frivolous spirit? It seemed to Selma that there could be no other
conclusion, and though she and Lyons had finished dinner, she was unable
to take her eyes off the culprits, or to cease to wonder how it was
possible for people with nothing to continue to live as though they had
everything. Her moral nature was stirred to resentment, and she sat
spell-bound, seeking in vain for a point of consolation.

Meantime Lyons, like a good American, had sent for an evening paper, and
was deep in its perusal. A startled ejaculation from him aroused Selma
from her nightmare. Her husband was saying to her across the table:

"My dear, Senator Calkins is dead." He spoke in a solemn, excited
whisper.

"Our Senator Calkins?"

"Yes. This is the despatch from Washington: 'United States Senator
Calkins dropped dead suddenly in the lobby of the Senate chamber, at ten
o'clock this morning, while talking with friends. His age was 52. The
cause of his death was heart-failure.