In fact, one naturally had to think of Mrs. Hale in terms of progressing to a new position more cultured or secure or more satisfactory, in some manner, from an old situation less so. Frequently, like to-night, she was so obviously in progress that she made you think of her start which had been from Edgewater, in Chicago, when that part of the north shore of the city—which never was really smart—still was where educated and moderately successful men made their homes. When she married Charles Hale, and he took her to Irving Park, this clearly was a step down for her; but you could imagine her reckoning patiently, and correctly, that her husband was sure to enable her to more than better her old position. Now, of course, she had done so; how high was she hoping to go, Gregg wondered, as he glanced at her composed, self-trusting face.
Many people enthusiastically praised Mrs. Hale, appreciating her composure and the competency and the certainty with which she went about anything she had to do. When Gregg suddenly imagined word of Sybil Russell reaching her, he had to think of Mrs. Hale as yet calm; he could not think of her in any other way. But he thought also of her dealing with the circumstance with a thoroughness and relentlessness never approached before.
She was of about medium height and now forty-four years of age. She had dressed herself for this dinner after a fashion which, expressed by any sensuous woman, must have been considered daring; but you could not associate anything daring with Mrs. Hale. The exposure of most of the upper half of her beautifully formed, white body was absolutely without any corresponding consciousness of her body; and so it
