Mrs. Bassett was not wholly unhappy.  It was something to be near at hand where she could keep track of Sylvia’s movements; and the social scene at the capital was not without its interest for her.  She was not merely the wife of Morton Bassett, but the only child of the late Blackford Singleton, sometime Senator in Congress.  She was moreover the niece of Sally Owen, and this in itself was a social asset.  She showed her husband the cards that were left at their door, and called his attention to the fact that the representative people of the capital were looking them up.  He made the mistake of suggesting that the husbands of most of the women who had called had axes to grind at the State House,—­a suggestion intended to be humorous; but she answered that many of her callers were old friends of the Singletons, and she expressed the hope that he would so conduct himself as to adorn less frequently the newspaper headlines; the broad advertisement of his iniquities would be so much worse now that they were in the city, and with Marian’s future to consider, and all.

It should be said that Marian’s arrival had not gone unheeded.  The society columns of the capital welcomed her, and the “Advertiser” reproduced her photograph in a picture hat.  She began at once to be among those included in all manner of functions.  Allen danced cheerfully to her piping and she still telephoned to Harwood when she thought of ways of using him.  Mrs. Owen had declared her intention of giving a “party” to introduce Marian to the society of the capital.  Sally Owen had not given a “party” since Mrs. Bassett’s coming out, but she brought the same energy and thoroughness to bear upon a social affair that characterized her business undertakings.  In preparing the list (in itself a task) and in the discussion of details, it was necessary of course to consult Marian,—­one usually heard Marian’s views whether one consulted her or not,—­but she and her aunt were on the best of terms, and Mrs. Owen was sincerely anxious to satisfy her in every particular.  On half a dozen evenings Allen or Dan brought Sylvia to the Delaware Street house to meet Marian and plan the coming event.  No one would have imagined, from the zest with which Sylvia discussed such deep questions as the employment of musicians, the decorating of the hall, the german favors and the refreshments, that she had been at work all day in a schoolroom that had been built before ventilation was invented.

When Sylvia was busy, she was the busiest of mortals, but when she threw herself heart and soul into play, it was with the completest detachment.  She accomplished wonderful things in the way of work after schoolhours if she received warning that either of her faithful knights meditated a descent upon her.  During these councils of war to plan Marian’s belated debut, Sylvia might snowball Allen or Dan or both of them all the way from Elizabeth House to Mrs. Owen’s door, and then appear demurely before that amiable soul, with cheeks aglow and dark eyes flashing, and Mrs. Owen would say:  “This school-teaching ain’t good for you, Sylvia; it seems to be breaking down your health.”  That was a lively quartette—­Sylvia, Marian, Allen, and Dan!