In advance came Molly Stillwater, the youngest and prettiest and the most aggressively dressed because her position as family beauty made it incumbent upon her to lead the way in fashion.  As soon as the greetings were over—­cold, indeed, from Madam Bowker, hysterical from Roxana—­Molly gushed out:  “Just as we left home, Josh Craig came tearing in.  If possible, madder than a hatter—­ yes—­really—­” Molly was still too young to have learned to control the mechanism of her mouth; thus, her confused syntax seemed the result of the alarming and fascinating contortions of her lips and tongue—­“and, when we told him where we were going he shouted out, ‘Give Rita my love.’”

Margaret penetrated to the purpose to anger her against Craig.  Was not Craig intended by Mrs. Stillwater for Jessie, the eldest and only serious one of the three?  And was not his conduct, his hanging about Margaret and his shying off from Jessie, thoroughly up on public questions and competent to discuss them with anybody —­was not his conduct most menacing to her plans?  Mrs. Stillwater, arranging for matrimony for all her daughters, had decided that Jess was hopeless except as a “serious woman,” since she had neither figure nor face, nor even abundant hair, which alone is enough to entangle some men.  So, Jess had been set to work at political economy, finance, at studying up the political situations; and, if started right and not interfered with, she could give as good account of her teaching as any phonograph.

Margaret welcomed Molly’s message from Craig with a sweet smile.  An amused glance at the thunderous face of her grandmother, and she said, “Perhaps it would interest you, dear, to know that he and I are engaged.”

What could Madam Bowker say?  What could she do?  Obviously, nothing.  The three Stillwaters became hysterical.  Their comments and congratulations were scraps of disjointed nonsense, and they got away under cover of more arrivals, in as great disorder as if the heavy guns Madam Bowker had stacked to the brim for Margaret had accidentally discharged into them.  Madam Bowker could wait no longer.  “Margaret,” said she, “help me to my carriage.”

Mrs. Severence gave her difficult daughter an appealing glance, as if she feared the girl would cap the climax of rebellion by flatly refusing; but Margaret said sweetly: 

“Yes, Grandma.”

The two left the room, the old lady leaning heavily on her granddaughter and wielding her ebony staff as if getting her arm limbered to use it.  In the hall, she said fiercely, “To your room,” and waved her staff toward the stairway.

Margaret hesitated, shrugged her shoulders.  She preceding, and Madam Bowker ascending statelily afterward, they went up and were presently alone in Margaret’s pretty rose and gold boudoir, with the outer door closed.

“Now!” exclaimed Madam Bowker.

“Not so loud, please,” suggested the tranquil Margaret, “unless you wish Selina to hear.”  She pointed to the door ajar.  “She’s sewing in there.”