"Well?"
"I thank you." Gregory doffed an imaginary hat and swept a bow. "What have you in mind this time?"
"Don't be silly. Besides, it's every hostess's duty to look as well as she can."
"You've done that. Maybe Burnham will resign in my favor and I'll be president of the Architectural Society of America."
"There's no reason that you shouldn't be some day, if you go about it right. It has to have a president, doesn't it?"
"Absolutely essential." Gregory chuckled and switched on the lights. In this mood of helping-wife Margaret was delightfully naïve.
"Well, I'm doing my part. If you do yours——"
"There's no knowing to what heights I may not climb."
"But you can't get anything without some trouble in this world. You've got to work for it, in every way." Margaret spoke as if she were enunciating a divine decree, and moved with stately coldness to the door.
"Very well. I'll work to-night. You've put me next to Phyllis Henshaw, haven't you?"