nd would they keep the
secret if he did?

Margaret continued to live as she had done before. That was part of
the horror. She dared not resign from the Zenith Club. However, she
came in time to get a sort of comfort from it. Meeting all those
members, presiding over the meetings, became a sort of secret
flagellation, which served as a counter irritation, for her tormented
soul. All those women thought well of her. They admired her. The
acute torture which she derived from her knowledge of herself, as
compared with their opinion of her, seemed at times to go a little
way toward squaring her account with her better self. And the club
also seemed to rouse within her a keener vitality of her better self.
Especially when the New Year came and Mrs. Slade was elected
president in her stead. Once, Margaret would have been incapable of
accepting that situation so gracefully. She gave a reception to Mrs.
Slade in honour of her election, and that night had a little return
of her lost peace. Then during one of the meetings, a really good
paper was read, which set her thinking. That evening she played
dominoes with Maida and Adelaide, and always after that a game
followed dinner. The mother became intimate with her children. She
really loved them because of her loss of love for herself, and
because the heart must hold love. She loved her husband too, but he
realised no difference because he had loved her. That coldness had
had no headway against such doting worship. But the children
realised.

"Mamma is so much better since she wrote that book that I shall be
glad when you are old enough to write a book too," Adelaide said once
to Maida.

But always Margaret suffered horribly, although she gave no sign. She
took care of her beauty. She was more particular than ever about her
dress. She entertained, she accepted every invitation, and they
multiplied since Wilbur's flight in politics and her own reputed
authorship. She was Spartan in her courage, but she suffered, because
she saw herself as she was and she had so loved herself. It was not
until Annie Eustace was married that she obtained the slightest
relief. Then she ascertained that the friend whom she had robbed of
her laurels had obtained a newer and greener crown of them. She went
to the wedding and saw on a table, Annie's new book. She glanced at
it and she knew and she wondered if Von Rosen knew. He did not.

Annie waited until after their return from their short wedding