seen her riding down the street with the upholsterer, and Mrs.
Congdon told me that she saw her stop her carriage in front of a cigar
store and talk with a barber in a white jacket for at least ten
minutes."

Crego laughed. "What infamy! However, I can't believe even the
upholsterer will finally corrupt her. The fact is, my dear, we're all
getting to be what some of my clients call 'too a-ristocratic.' Bertha
Haney is sprung from good average American stock, and has associated
with the kind of people you abhor all her life. She hasn't begun to draw
any of your artificial distinctions. I hope she never will. Her barber
friend is on the same level with the clerks and grocery-men of the town.
They're all human, you know. She's the true democrat. I confess I like
the girl. Her ability is astonishing. Williams and Haney both take her
opinion quite as weightily as my own."

Mrs. Crego was impressed. "Well, I'll call on her if you really think I
_ought_ to do so."

"I don't. I withdraw my suggestion. I deprecate your calling--in that
spirit. I doubt if she expects you to call. I hardly think she has
awakened to any slights put upon her by your set. Indeed, she seems
quite happy in the society of Thomas, Richard, and Harry."

"Don't be brutal, Allen."

"I'm not. The girl is now serene--that's the main thing; and you might
raise up doubts and discontents in her mind."

"I certainly shall not go near her so long as that odious actor is
hanging about. His smirk at me the other day made me ill."

This conversation was typical of many others in homes of equal culture,
for Bertha's position as well as her face and manner piqued curiosity.
After all, the town was a small place--just large enough to give gossip
room to play in--and the sheen of Mrs. Haney's wealth made her
conspicuous from afar, while her youth and boyish beauty had been the
subject of admiring club talk from the very first. Haney was only an old
and wounded animal, whose mate was free to choose anew.

"It makes me ache to see the girl go wrong," said Mrs. Frank Congdon,
wife of a resident portrait-painter, also in delicate health (she was
speaking to Mrs. Crego). "Think of that great house--Frank says she runs
it admirably--filled with tinkers and tailors and candlestick-makers,
not to mention touts and gamblers--when she might be entertaining--well,
us, for example!" She laughed at the unbending face of her friend; then
went on: "Dr. Cronk says the mother is