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She
did
not
ask
why
those
men
chose
to
make
all
their
crucial
decisions
at
parties
of
this
kind
;
she
knew
that
they
did
.
She
knew
that
behind
the
clattering
,
lumbering
pretense
of
their
council
sessions
,
committee
meetings
and
mass
debates
,
the
decisions
were
made
in
advance
,
in
furtive
informality
,
at
luncheons
,
dinners
and
bars
,
the
graver
the
issue
,
the
more
casual
the
method
of
settling
it
.
It
was
the
first
time
that
they
had
asked
her
,
the
outsider
,
the
enemy
,
to
one
of
those
secret
sessions
;
it
was
,
she
thought
,
an
acknowledgment
of
the
fact
that
they
needed
her
and
,
perhaps
,
the
first
step
of
their
surrender
;
it
was
a
chance
she
could
not
leave
untaken
.
But
as
she
sat
in
the
candlelight
of
the
dining
room
,
she
felt
certain
that
she
had
no
chance
;
she
felt
restlessly
unable
to
accept
that
certainty
,
since
she
could
not
grasp
its
reason
,
yet
lethargically
reluctant
to
pursue
any
inquiry
.
"
As
,
I
think
,
you
will
concede
,
Miss
Taggart
,
there
now
seems
to
be
no
economic
justification
for
the
continued
existence
of
a
railroad
line
in
Minnesota
,
which
.
.
.
"
"
And
even
Miss
Taggart
will
,
I
’
m
sure
,
agree
that
certain
temporary
retrenchments
seem
to
be
indicated
,
until
.
.
.
"
"
Nobody
,
not
even
Miss
Taggart
,
will
deny
that
there
are
times
when
it
is
necessary
to
sacrifice
the
parts
for
the
sake
of
the
whole
.
.
.
"
As
she
listened
to
the
mentions
of
her
name
tossed
into
the
conversation
at
half
-
hour
intervals
,
tossed
perfunctorily
,
with
the
speaker
’
s
eyes
never
glancing
in
her
direction
,
she
wondered
what
motive
had
made
them
want
her
to
be
present
.
It
was
not
an
attempt
to
delude
her
into
believing
that
they
were
consulting
her
,
but
worse
:
an
attempt
to
delude
themselves
into
believing
that
she
had
agreed
.
They
asked
her
questions
at
times
and
interrupted
her
before
she
had
completed
the
first
sentence
of
the
answer
.
They
seemed
to
want
her
approval
,
without
having
to
know
whether
she
approved
or
not
.
Some
crudely
childish
form
of
self
-
deception
had
made
them
choose
to
give
to
this
occasion
the
decorous
setting
of
a
formal
dinner
.
They
acted
as
if
they
hoped
to
gain
,
from
the
objects
of
gracious
luxury
,
the
power
and
the
honor
of
which
those
objects
had
once
been
the
product
and
symbol
—
they
acted
,
she
thought
,
like
those
savages
who
devour
the
corpse
of
an
adversary
in
the
hope
of
acquiring
his
strength
and
his
virtue
.
She
regretted
that
she
was
dressed
as
she
was
.
"
It
’
s
formal
,
"
Jim
had
told
her
,
"
but
don
’
t
overdo
it
.
.
.
what
I
mean
is
,
don
’
t
look
too
rich
.
.
.
business
people
should
avoid
any
appearance
of
arrogance
these
days
.
.
.
not
that
you
should
look
shabby
,
but
if
you
could
just
seem
to
suggest
.
.
.
well
,
humility
.
.
.
it
would
please
them
,
you
know
,
it
would
make
them
feel
big
.
"
"
Really
?
"
she
had
said
,
turning
away
.
She
wore
a
black
dress
that
looked
as
if
it
were
no
more
than
a
piece
of
cloth
crossed
over
her
breasts
and
falling
to
her
feet
in
the
soft
folds
of
a
Grecian
tunic
;
it
was
made
of
satin
,
a
satin
so
light
and
thin
that
it
could
have
served
as
the
stuff
of
a
nightgown
.
The
luster
of
the
cloth
,
streaming
and
shifting
with
her
movements
,
made
it
look
as
if
the
light
of
the
room
she
entered
were
her
personal
property
,
sensitively
obedient
to
the
motions
of
her
body
,
wrapping
her
in
a
sheet
of
radiance
more
luxurious
than
the
texture
of
brocade
,
underscoring
the
pliant
fragility
of
her
figure
,
giving
her
an
air
of
so
natural
an
elegance
that
it
could
afford
to
be
scornfully
casual
.
She
wore
a
single
piece
of
jewelry
,
a
diamond
clip
at
the
edge
of
the
black
neckline
,
that
kept
flashing
with
the
imperceptible
motion
of
her
breath
,
like
a
transformer
converting
a
flicker
into
fire
,
making
one
conscious
,
not
of
the
gems
,
but
of
the
living
beat
behind
them
;
it
flashed
like
a
military
decoration
,
like
wealth
worn
as
a
badge
of
honor
.
She
wore
no
other
ornament
,
only
the
sweep
of
a
black
velvet
cape
,
more
arrogantly
,
ostentatiously
patrician
than
any
spread
of
sables
.
She
regretted
it
now
,
as
she
looked
at
the
men
before
her
;
she
felt
the
embarrassing
guilt
of
pointlessness
,
as
if
she
had
tried
to
defy
the
figures
in
a
waxworks
.
She
saw
a
mindless
resentment
in
their
eyes
and
a
sneaking
trace
of
the
lifeless
,
sexless
,
smutty
leer
with
which
men
look
at
a
poster
advertising
burlesque
.
