THE TOUCHSTONE
and then do all you can to encourage the blatant publicity of the readings!"
Mrs. Armiger met him more than half-way on a torrent of self-accusal. "It was horrid; it was disgraceful. I told your wife we ought all to be ashamed of ourselves for going, and I think Alexa was quite right to refuse to take any tickets—even if it was for a charity."
"Oh," her hostess murmured indifferently, "with me charity begins at home. I can't afford emotional luxuries."
"A charity? A charity?" Hartly exulted. "I hadn't seized the full beauty of it. Reading poor Margaret Aubyn's love-letters at the Waldorf before five hundred people for a charity! What charity, dear Mrs. Armiger?"
"Why, the Home for Friendless Women—"
"It was well chosen," Dresham commented; and Hartly buried his mirth in the sofa cushions.
"When they were alone Glennard, still holding his untouched cup of tea, turned to his wife, who sat
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