Educated thoroughly and broadly, in an American college and later at Girton, her mind had been developed still further through constant association with her father. Her life with him in Washington had unfitted her for the fashionable career which she might have had if she had desired. Several times her hand had been sought in marriage, once by a diplomat of renown, but so far love had not touched her heart and she was not a woman to marry for any other cause. She was now thirty and looking forward instead of backward (as unmarried women of her age once did) towards a "career."
"I think Bailey will run in on his way down town," she said, rising and walking to the front window, where her slight form stood silhouetted against the late-September sunshine that shimmered and filtered through the plate glass. "There's the postman."
A moment later a letter was handed in to her. She tore it open and read:
"Dear Miss Van Deusen:
I've just heard, privately, that the Municipal League has turned us down. How's that for their boasted progress and reform? For they will combine with the Burke crowd. But never mind. Keep a brave heart and we'll win out yet.
Yours to command,
Mary Snow."
"You're wanted at the telephone," said the maid at the door, and Gertrude hurried out to find that it was Mrs. Bateman at the other end of the wire.
"I'm so wrathy, I don't know what to say," she began. "I have a letter from John Allingham. Shall I read it to you?"
"Oh, yes," said Gertrude.