The dinner was less ghastly than could have been expected after the revelation of the guest of honour and the blank consternation of the host, who made no attempt to conceal his state of mind.  Poor Wilbur had no society tricks.  Alice Mendon, who was quite cognizant of the whole matter, but was broad enough to leap to the aid of another woman, did much.  She had quite a talent for witty stories and a goodly fund of them.  The dinner went off very well, while Martha Wallingford ate hers from a dinner tray in her room and felt that every morsel was sweetened with righteous revenge.

The next morning she left for New York and Margaret did not attempt to detain her although she had a lunch party planned besides the Sunday festivities.  Margaret had had a scene with Wilbur after the departure of the guests the previous evening.  For the first time in her experience, the devoted husband had turned upon his goddess.  He had asked, “Was it true, what that girl said?” and Margaret had laughed up at him bewitchingly to no effect.  Wilbur’s face was very stern.

“My dear,” said Margaret, “I knew perfectly well that if I actually asked her to speak or read, she would have refused.”

“You have done an unpardonable thing,” said the man.  “You have betrayed your own sense of honour, your hospitality toward the guest under your roof.”

Margaret laughed as she took an ornament from her yellow head but the laugh was defiant and forced.  In her heart she bitterly resented her husband’s attitude and more bitterly resented the attitude of respect into which it forced her.  “It is the very last time I ask a Western authoress to accept my hospitality,” said she.

“I hope so,” said Wilbur gravely.

That night Karl von Rosen walked home with Annie Eustace.  She had come quite unattended, as was the wont of Fairbridge ladies.  That long peaceful Main Street lined with the homes of good people always seemed a safe thoroughfare.  Annie was even a little surprised when Von Rosen presented himself and said, “I will walk home with you, Miss Eustace, with your permission.”

“But I live a quarter of a mile past your house,” said Annie.

Von Rosen laughed.  “A quarter of a mile will not injure me,” he said.

“It will really be a half mile,” said Annie.  She wanted very much that the young man should walk home with her, but she was very much afraid of making trouble.  She was relieved when he only laughed again and said something about the beauty of the night.  It was really a wonderful night and even the eyes of youth, inhabiting it with fairy dreams, were not essential to perceive it.

“What flower scent is that?” asked Von Rosen.