Houghton's. He was holding forth noisily
against "society," was denouncing it as a debaucher of manhood and
womanhood, a waster of precious time, and on and on in that trite
and tedious strain. Margaret's lip curled as she listened. What
did this fakir know about manhood and womanhood? And could there
be any more pitiful, more paltry wasting of time than in studying
out and performing such insincerities as his life was made up of?
True, Mrs. Houghton, of those funny, fashionable New Yorkers who
act as if they had only just arrived at the estate of servants and
carriages, and are always trying to impress even passing strangers
with their money and their grandeur--true, Mrs. Houghton was most
provocative to anger or amused disdain at the fashionable life.
But not even Mrs. Houghton seemed to Margaret so cheap and pitiful
as this badly-dressed, mussy politician, as much an actor as Mrs.
Houghton and as poor at the trade, but choosing low comedy for his
unworthy attempts where Mrs. Houghton was at least trying to be
something refined.
With that instinct for hostility which is part of the equipment of
every sensitively-nerved man of action, Craig soon turned toward
her, addressed himself to her; and the others, glad to be free,
fell away.
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