“Oh!” exclaimed she, her eyes lighting up.

He went on to explain.  “As you know, the President didn’t want to give it to me.  But I succeeded in drawing him into a position where he either had to give it to me or seem to be retiring me because I had so vigorously attacked the big rascals he’s suspected of being privately more than half in sympathy with.”

“She’ll be delighted!” exclaimed Margaret.

“And you?” he asked with awkward wistfulness.

“I?” said she blushing and dropping her glance.  “Is it necessary for you to ask?”

She went back to the elevator still more out of humor with herself.  She had begun their married life with what was very nearly a—­well, it certainly was an evasion; for she cared nothing about his political career, so soon to end.  However, she was glad of the appointment, because the news of it would be useful in calming and reconciling her grandmother.  Just as her spirits began to rise it flashed into her mind:  “Why, that’s how it happens I’m married!  If he hadn’t been successful in getting the office he wouldn’t have come....He maneuvered the President into a position where he had to give him what he wanted.  Then he came here and maneuvered me into a position where I had to give him what he wanted.  Always his ‘game!’ No sincerity or directness anywhere in him, and very little real courage.”  Here she stopped short in the full swing of pharisaism, smiled at herself in dismal self-mockery.  “And what am I doing?  Playing my ‘game.’  I’m on my way now to maneuver my grandmother.  We are well suited—­he and I. In another walk of life we might have been a pair of swindlers, playing into each other’s hands....And yet I don’t believe we’re worse than most people.  Why, most people do these things without a thought of their being—­unprincipled.  And, after all, I’m not harming anybody, am I?  That is, anybody but myself.”

She had her campaign carefully laid out; she had mapped it in the cab between the parsonage and the hotel.  “Grandmother,” she began as the old lady looked up with a frown because of her long, unexpected absence, “I must tell you that just before we left Washington Craig broke the engagement.”

Madam Bowker half-started from her chair.  “Broke the engagement!” she cried in dismay.

“Abruptly and, apparently, finally.  I—­I didn’t dare tell you before.”

She so longed for sympathy that she half-hoped the old lady would show signs of being touched by the plight which that situation meant.  But no sign came.  Instead, Madam Bowker pierced her with wrathful eyes and said in a furious voice:  “This is frightful!  And you have done nothing?” She struck the floor violently with her staff.  “He must be brought to a sense of honor—­of decency!  He must!  Do you hear?  It was your fault, I am sure.  If he does not marry you are ruined!”

“He came over this morning,” pursued Margaret.  “He wanted to marry me at once.”