“Mercy, that’s long since lived down and forgotten,” exclaimed Mrs. Ogden cheerily, but she had paled and her husband observed it in silence. “I’ve never had an opportunity to return the Barclays’ kindness to me when I most needed assistance—before I met you, dear,” kissing him affectionately. “This is the first hospitality I’ve ever shown Julian.”
“That is not your fault,” said Ogden impatiently. “Julian apparently has chosen to ignore his relatives, until his letter to you last month out of a clear sky, and you are under no obligation to assist his idle flirtation with my cousin, Ethel. I advise your giving him a hint that he terminate his visit.”
“Walter!” But Mrs. Ogden’s scandalized expression was lost on her husband, who was busy casting up a long array of figures. “I shall do nothing so inhospitable. No, Ethel must work out her own salvation. I”—primly, “never interfere in other people’s affairs.”
Ogden smiled, not unkindly. “Then send Ethel to me, or better still, I’ll talk to Barclay.”
“You must not put all the blame on Julian,” protested Mrs. Ogden, quick to resent another’s disapproval of her cousin, although secretly displeased with him. She was longing for the éclat which a fashionable wedding would give her in Washington society, and had already planned to ask Ethel and Representative Patterson to hold their wedding in her house. And now her own cousin had come along and threatened by his inconsiderate flirtation to upset her social campaign. “Walter,” moving nearer her husband and lowering her voice, “has it not struck you that Professor Norcross is épris with Ethel?”
“Norcross?” Ogden leaned back and indulged in a dry chuckle. “My dear Jane, your imagination is working overtime.”
“Well, he got married once!”
Ogden chuckled again. “Jane, romancing is your forte. If you are not careful,” shaking an admonitory finger at his wife, “you may imagine I have fallen a victim to Ethel’s charms. Now, run along, and leave me to my accounts. How often must I tell you that I cannot be interrupted by trivialities?”
“Why, you commenced the argument,” protested Mrs. Ogden, but ten years of married life had taught her the uselessness of combating her husband’s wishes, and she reluctantly withdrew. Ogden did not at once resume his perusal of his business affairs.
“What was it I heard about Julian Barclay,” he muttered. “For a chatterbox Jane is marvelously close-mouthed where her relatives are concerned.”