Sylvia sat beside Bassett at dinner that night, and it was on the whole a cheerful party.  Mrs. Bassett was restored to tranquillity, and before her aunt she always strove to hide her ills, from a feeling that that lady, who enjoyed perfect health, and carried on the most prodigious undertakings, had little patience with her less fortunate sisters whom the doctors never fully discharge.  Mrs. Owen had returned so late that Bassett was unable to dispose of the lawsuit before dinner; she had greeted her niece’s husband with her usual cordiality.  She always called him Morton, and she was Aunt Sally to him as to many hundreds of her fellow citizens.  She discussed crops, markets, rumors of foreign wars, prospective changes in the President’s Cabinet, the price of ice, and the automobile invasion.  Talk at Sally Owen’s table was always likely to be spirited.  Bassett’s anxiety as to his relations with her passed; he had never felt more comfortable in her house.

Only the most temerarious ever ventured to ask a forecast of Mrs. Owen’s plans.  Marian, who had found a school friend with an automobile and had enjoyed a run into the country, did not share the common fear of her great-aunt.  Mrs. Owen liked Marian’s straightforward ways even when they approached rashness.  It had occurred to her sometimes that there was a good deal of Singleton in Marian; she, Sally Owen, was a Singleton herself, and admired the traits of that side of her family.  Marian amused her now by plunging into a description of a new flat she had passed that afternoon which would provide admirably a winter home for the Bassetts.  Mrs. Bassett shuddered, expecting her aunt to sound a warning against the extravagance of maintaining two homes; but Mrs. Owen rallied promptly to her grandniece’s support.

“If you’ve got tired of my house, you couldn’t do better than to take an apartment in the Verona.  I saw the plans before they began it, and it’s first-class and up-to-date.  My house is open to you and always has been, but I notice you go to the hotel about half the time.  You’d better try a flat for a winter, Hallie, and let Marian see how we do things in town.”

Instantly Mrs. Bassett was alert.  This could only be covert notice that Sylvia was to be installed in the Delaware Street house.  Marian was engaging her father in debate upon the merits of her plan, fortified by Mrs. Owen’s unexpected approval.  Mrs. Bassett raised her eyes to Sylvia.  Sylvia, in one of the white gowns with which she relieved her mourning, tranquilly unconscious of the dark terror she awakened in Mrs. Bassett, seemed to be sympathetically interested in the Bassetts’ transfer to the capital.

Sylvia was guilty of the deplorable sin of making herself agreeable to every one.  She had paused on the way to her room before dinner to proffer assistance to Mrs. Bassett.  With a light, soothing touch she had brushed the invalid’s hair and dressed it; and she had produced a new kind of salts that proved delightfully refreshing.  Since coming to the table Mrs. Bassett had several times detected her husband in an exchange of smiles with the young woman, and Marian and the usurper got on famously.