"The road that leads to freedom is always beautiful," agreed the young Oxonian. "But your cage seems rather a golden one."
"It has to be, or I'd eat through the bars. You see, there was really a Waterloo fought over me. Mrs. Simpson-Burgess wanted to capture me—yes, isn't it flattering?—and Mrs. Spaulding wanted me, so they had to fight it out."
"On which, some day, I should like to congratulate Mrs. Spaulding."
"Oh, thanks," sighed the other.
There was a moment of constrained silence. The young man felt that they had been treading on thin ice.
"You must be sure to meet Mrs. Spaulding," went on Cordelia. "I know she'll be interested in you. She'll probably be able to help you, too, in more ways than one. Oh, by the way, does your syndicate publish portraits at all?"
Hartley explained that it did; two pages a week—one of People of the Hour, and the other of Beautiful Women.
As the woman on the orange cushion said nothing for a moment or two, Hartley rose to go.
"Some day you'll have to do Mrs. Spaulding for me," she begged. "She would really be at home on your Beautiful Women page."
Then she looked up and saw that he was standing.