Yes, with her sons-in-law she had begun the game of being a woman all over again. She dressed for them, planned for them, schemed in their interests. She had begun to entertain more than for years past—the new house made a plausible pretext—and to use her influence and charm in the little anxious social world of Hamilton. She was intensely interested in the success and happiness of these two young men, lived in their careers as she had once done in his. It was splendid, St. Peter told himself. She wasn’t going to have to face a stretch of boredom between being a young woman and being a young grandmother. She was less intelligent and more sensible than he had thought her.
When Godfrey came downstairs ready for dinner, Louie was gone. He walked up to the chair where his wife was reading, and took her hand.
“My dear,” he said quite delicately, “I wish you could keep Louie from letting his name go up for the Arts and Letters. It’s not safe yet. He’s not been here long enough. They’re a fussy little bunch, and he ought to wait until they know him better.”
“You mean someone will blackball him? Do you really think so? But the Country Club—”
“Yes, Lillian; the Country Club is a big affair, and needs money. The Arts and Letters is a little group of fellows, and, as I said, fussy.”
“Scott belongs,” said Mrs. St. Peter rebelliously. “Did he tell you?”
“No, he didn’t, and I shall not tell you who did. But if you’re tactful, you can save Louie’s feelings.”
Mrs. St. Peter closed her book without glancing down at it. A new interest shone in her eyes and made them look quite through and beyond her husband. “I must see what I can do with Scott,” she murmured.
St. Peter turned away to hide a smile. An old student of his, a friend who belonged to “the Outland period,” had told him laughingly that he was