“I dare say.  But we are succeeding splendidly.  The next time you come to Benham you must come to see me, and I will take you over our hospital.  I don’t despair yet of converting you to our side, just as you evidently don’t despair of inducing a certain lady some day to change her mind.  I, for one, think that she is more fitted by nature to be a wife than a college president, so I shall await with interest more news from my little bird.”  Selma felt that she was talking to greater advantage than almost ever before.  Her last remark banished every trace of a smile from her adversary’s face, and he stood regarding her with a preternatural gravity, which should have been appalling, but which she welcomed as a sign of serious feeling on his part.  She felt, too, that at last she had got the better of the ironical doctor in repartee, and that he was taking his leave tongue-tied.  In truth, he was so angry that he did not trust himself to speak.  He simply glared and departed.

“Poor fellow,” she said, by way of explanation to Lyons, “I suppose his emotion got the better of him, because he has loved her so long.  That was the Dr. Page who has been crazy for years to marry Pauline Littleton.  When he was young he married a woman of doubtful character, who ran away from him.  I used to think that Pauline was right in refusing to sacrifice her life for his sake.  But he has been very constant, and I doubt if she has originality enough to keep her position as president of Wetmore long.  He belongs to the old school of medicine.  It was he who took care of Wilbur when he died.  I fancy that case may have taught him not to mistrust truth merely because it isn’t labelled.  But I bear him no malice, because I know he meant to do his best.  They are just suited for each other, and I shall be on his side after this.”

The interest of this episode served to restore somewhat Selma’s serenity, but she kept her attention fixed on the table where the Williamses were sitting, observing with a sense of injury their gay behavior.  To all appearances, Flossy was as light-hearted and volatile as ever.  Her attire was in the height of fashion.  Had adversity taught her nothing?  Had the buffet of Providence failed utterly to sober her frivolous spirit?  It seemed to Selma that there could be no other conclusion, and though she and Lyons had finished dinner, she was unable to take her eyes off the culprits, or to cease to wonder how it was possible for people with nothing to continue to live as though they had everything.  Her moral nature was stirred to resentment, and she sat spell-bound, seeking in vain for a point of consolation.

Meantime Lyons, like a good American, had sent for an evening paper, and was deep in its perusal.  A startled ejaculation from him aroused Selma from her nightmare.  Her husband was saying to her across the table: 

“My dear, Senator Calkins is dead.”  He spoke in a solemn, excited whisper.