Hubert Tracy now danced attendance upon his mother-in-law, elect and
on the present occasion was her beau chevalier.
He had taken leave of Marguerite with much reluctance. Her wearied
and sadly pale face upbraided him but he kept stifling his
conscience with the thought that she would be happier when the first
impressions wore off.
"I am beginning to believe all women are alike," exclaimed he
petulantly as he was awaiting Mrs. Verne's appearance, "made up of
April showers and ready to transfer themselves into a vale of tears
whenever they think of their boy lovers but when they've made a good
haul in the matrimonial net once and forever they forget all their
swains and live for one grand purpose--to impress their friends with
the greatness of their position. And I'm not going to be fooled
either I tell you, Miss Marguerite. You've got to toe the mark too.
None of your groaning over that chuckle-headed fool of a Lawson who
has no more sense than he needs."
"I beg pardon Hubert, for the detention," exclaimed Mrs. Verne who
now made her appearance rustling in gros grain silk and sparkling
with superb brilliants, while the cleverly artistic touches
administered to deface the inroad of merciless Time would lead one
at first glimpse to suppose that the radiant matron was none other
than a pretty woman of twenty.
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