No; she would not enjoy telling Richard that she was to marry his son.  Those keen eyes would read her through and through, and while her father-in-law might love her, and see her beauty and charm with all the rest of the world, Harriet knew that she must begin an actual campaign for his esteem on her wedding day.  The prospect had an unexpected piquancy.  She had little fear of its outcome.  She would make Ward Carter a wife for whom his father must come to feel genuine gratitude and devotion.  Every fibre of her being would be strained to make the Carter marriage a success.  She knew what persons to cultivate, and what elements to weed out of their lives.  There would be children, there would be hospitality and music and a garden.  And Ward should seriously settle down to his business, whatever it might be, and show himself a worthy son of his clever father.

Isabelle, simply because of her supreme indifference to whatever did not affect her own personal affairs, would be easy to handle.  Her son’s marriage might pique her, momentarily, but less, on the whole, than the discovery that she had gained eight pounds, or that new wrinkles had appeared about her eyes.  She would very probably choose the position of championing Harriet, if only to infuriate the old lady.  Madame Carter would of course be frantic, but Ward’s wife need have no fear of her.  And Nina—­

“I would very soon put a stop to that Blondin affair!” thought Harriet at this point.  But a sharp little wedge of fear entered her heart at the same second.  It would not do to anger Royal, that end of the tangle must be handled very carefully.  Whatever influence she might have with Nina must be used with discretion.

“After all, Nina must live her own life, as I have to live mine!” she thought.  And her mind drifted to the happier thought of what a brilliant marriage on her part would mean to the little girls who were so busily cleaning an eight-room house in a little Jersey suburb.  Josephine and Julia should come to visit her, they should have little frocks that would befit the pretty nieces of Mrs. Ward Carter; they should have a taste of polo games and country clubs, and in a winter or two Josephine’s first formal dance should be given in Aunt Harriet’s house.

“Why not—­why not?” Harriet asked herself, as she reached Madame Carter’s pretentious apartment house, and was whisked upstairs.  She was to meet Nina here, and she glanced about for the big limousine at the curb, as an indication that the old lady might be ready to accompany them back to Crownlands.  But there was no car in sight.  The maid’s first statement was that Miss Carter had gone home with her brother, and when Madame Carter came magnificently into the room, Harriet could see from the nature of her head-dress that she did not intend to assume a hat for some hours.  When Mrs. Carter meant to go out, her maid pinned and pressed and veiled her hat immovably, while dressing her, as a fixture, with the puffs and braids and curls of white hair.