ine with that light of intense enthusiasm?" The
"piggy-wiggy Eugene Witla" expression irritated her. It sounded as
though she might be in love with him. She came out after a moment with a
glad smile on her face and approached with every show of good feeling,
but Miss Whitmore could sense opposition.

"So this is Mrs. Witla," she exclaimed, kissing her. "I'm delighted to
know you. I have always wondered what sort of a girl Mr. Witla would
marry. You'll just have to pardon my calling him Eugene. I'll get over
it after a bit, I suppose, now that he's married. But we've been such
good friends and I admire his work so much. How do you like studio
life--or are you used to it?"

Angela, who was taking in every detail of Eugene's old friend, replied
in what seemed an affected tone that no, she wasn't used to studio life:
she was just from the country, you know--a regular farmer
girl--Blackwood, Wisconsin, no less! She stopped to let Norma express
friendly surprise, and then went on to say that she supposed Eugene had
not said very much about her, but he wrote her often enough. She was
rejoicing in the fact that whatever slight Eugene's previous silence
seemed to put upon her, she had the satisfaction that she had won him
after all and Miss Whitmore had not. She fancied from Miss Whitmore's
enthusiastic attitude that she must like Eugene very much, and she could
see now what sort of women might have made him wish to delay. Who were
the others, she wondered?

They talked of metropolitan experiences generally. Marietta came in from
a shopping expedition with a Mrs. Link, wife of an army captain acting
as an instructor at West Point, and tea was served immediately
afterward. Miss Whitmore was insistent that they should come and take
dinner with her some evening. Eugene confided that he was sending a
painting to the Academy.

"They'll hang it, of course," assured Norma, "but you ought to have an
exhibition of your own."

Marietta gushed about the wonder of the big stores and so it finally
came time for Miss Whitmore to go.

"Now you will come up, won't you?" she said to Angela, for in spite of a
certain feeling of incompatibility and difference she was determined to
like her. She thought Angela a little inexperienced and presumptuous in
marrying Eugene. She was afraid she was not up to his standard. Still
she was quaint, piquant. Perhaps she would do very well. Angela was
thinking all the while that Miss Whitmore was presumin