is a freak, must be, most of these writer people are freaks,"
said Wilbur sympathetically. "Poor old girl, and I suppose you have
got up a nice dinner too."

"A perfectly charming dinner and invited people to meet her."

"How did she do her stunt this afternoon?"

Margaret flushed. "None too well," she replied.

"Oh, well, dear, I don't see how you are to blame."

"I can say that Miss Wallingford is not well, I suppose," said
Margaret, and that was what she did say, but with disastrous results.

Margaret, ravishing in white lace, sprinkled with little gold
butterflies, had taken her place at the head of her table. Emma was
serving the first course and she was making her little speech
concerning the unfortunate indisposition of her guest of honour when
she was suddenly interrupted by that guest herself, an image of sulky
wrath, clad in the blue and black costume pertaining to South Mordan,
Illinois.

"I am perfectly well. She is telling an awful whopper," proclaimed
this amazing girl. "I won't dress up and come to dinner because I
won't. She trapped me into a woman's club this afternoon and tried to
get me to make a speech without even telling me what she meant to do
and now I won't do anything."

With that Miss Wallingford disappeared and unmistakable stamps were
heard upon the stairs. One woman giggled convulsively; another took a
glass of water and choked. A man laughed honestly. Wilbur was quite
pale. Margaret was imperturbable. Karl von Rosen, who was one of the
guests and who sat behind Annie Eustace, looked at Margaret with
wonder. "Was this the way of women?" he thought. He did not doubt for
one minute that the Western girl had spoken the truth. It had been
brutal and homely, but it had been the truth. Little Annie Eustace,
who had been allowed to come to a dinner party for the first time in
her life and who looked quite charming in an old, much mended, but
very fine India muslin and her grandmother's corals, did not, on the
contrary, believe one word of Miss Wallingford's.

Her sympathy was all with her Margaret. It was a horrible situation
and her dear Margaret was the victim of her own hospitality. She
looked across the table at Alice Mendon for another sympathiser, but
Alice was talking busily to the man at her right about a new book.
She had apparently not paid much attention. Annie wondered how it
could have escaped her. That horrid girl had spoken so loudly. She
looked up at Von Rosen. "I am so