All the women she knew were useless, boasting rather of what they did not have to do than of what they did, and Margaret was more successfully useless than the others.  But wasn’t that the lot of a woman who is rich, and marries a richer man?  Wasn’t it what married life should be?

“I don’t know what makes me nervous to-night,” Margaret said to herself finally, settling back comfortably in her furs.  “Perhaps I only imagine John is going to make one of his favorite scenes when we get home.  Probably he hasn’t seen the article at all.  I don’t care, anyway!  If it should come to a divorce, why, we know plenty of people who are happier that way.  Thank Heaven, there isn’t a child to complicate things!”

Five feet away from her, as the motor-car waited before crossing the park entrance, a tall man and a laughing girl were standing, waiting to cross the street.

“But aren’t we too late for gallery seats?” Margaret heard the girl say, evidently deep in an important choice.

“Oh, no!” the man assured her eagerly.

“Then I choose the fifty-cent dinner and ‘Hoffman’ by all means,” she decided joyously.

Margaret looked after them, a sudden pain at her heart.  She did not know what the pain was.  She thought she was pitying that young husband and wife; but her thoughts went back to them as she entered her own warm, luxurious rooms a few moments later.

“Fifty-cent dinner!” she murmured.  “It must be awful!”

To her surprise, her husband followed her into her room, without knocking, and paid no attention to the very cold stare with which she greeted him.

“Sit down a minute, Margaret, will you?” he said, “and let your woman go.  I want to speak to you.”

Angry to feel herself a little at loss, Margaret nodded to the maid, and said in a carefully controlled tone: 

“I am dining at the Kelseys’, John.  Perhaps some other time—­”

Her husband, a thin, tall man, prematurely gray, was pacing the floor nervously, his hands plunged deep in his coat pockets.  He cleared his throat several times before he spoke.  His voice was sharp, and his words were delivered quickly: 

“It’s come to this, Margaret—­I’m very sorry to have to tell you, but things have finally reached the point where it’s—­it’s got to come out!  Bannister and I have been nursing it along; we’ve done all that we could.  I went down to Washington and saw Peterson, but it’s no use!  We turn it all over—­the whole thing—­to the creditors to-morrow!” His voice rose suddenly; it was shocking to see the control suddenly fail.  “I tell you it’s all up, Margaret!  It’s the end of me!  I won’t face it!”

He dropped into a chair, but suddenly sprang up again, and began to walk about the room.

“Now, you can do just what you think wise,” he resumed presently, in the advisory, quiet tones he usually used to her.  “You can always have the income of your Park Avenue house; your Aunt Paul will be glad enough to go abroad with you, and there are personal things—­ the house silver and the books—­that you can claim.  I’ve lain awake nights planning—­” His voice shook again, but he gained his calm after a moment.  “I want to ask you not to work yourself up over it,” he added.