THE WORKS OF KATHLEEN NORRIS

THE HEART OF RACHAEL

VOLUME VI

TO MY TERESA

BOOK I

THE HEART OF RACHAEL

CHAPTER I

The day had opened so brightly, in such a welcome wave of Aprilsunshine, that by mid-afternoon there were two hundred playersscattered over the links of the Long Island Country Club atBelvedere Bay; the men in thick plaid stockings and loose stripedsweaters, the women's scarlet coats and white skirts makingsplashes of vivid color against the fresh green of grass and thethick powdering of dandelions. It was Saturday, and a half-holiday; it was that one day of all the year when the seasonschange places, when winter is visibly worsted, and summer, withwarmth and relaxation, bathing and tennis and motor trips in themoonlight, becomes again a reality. 

There was a real warmth in the sunshine to-day, there was afragrance of lilac and early roses in the idle breezes. "Hot!"shouted the players exultantly, as they passed each other in thegreen valleys and over the sunny mounds. "You bet it's hot!"agreed stout and glowing gentlemen, wiping wet foreheads beforereaching for a particular club, and panting as they gazed about atthe unbroken turf, melting a few miles away into the new green ofmaple and elm trees, and topped, where the slope rose, by thewhite columns and brick walls of the clubhouse. 

Motor cars swept incessantly back and forth on the smooth roadway;a few riders, their horses wheeling and dancing, went down thebridle path, and there was a sprinkling of young men and women andsome shouting and clapping on the tennis-courts. But golf was theorder of the day. At the first tee at least two scores ofimpatient players waited their turn to drive off, and at the lastgreen a group of twenty or thirty men and women, mostly women, were interestedly watching the putting. 

Mrs. Archibald Buckney, a large, generously made woman of perhapsfifty, who stood a little apart from the group, with two youngwomen and a mild-looking blond young man, suddenly interrupted ageneral discussion of scores and play with a personality. 

"Is Clarence Breckenridge playing to-day, I wonder? Anybody seenhim?"

"Must be, " said the more definite of the two rather indefinitegirls, with an assumption of bright interest. Leila Buckney, a fewweeks ago, had announced her engagement to the mild-looking blondyoung man, Parker Hoyt, and she was just now attempting to holdhim by a charm she suspected she did not possess for him, and atthe same time to give her mother and sister the impression thatParker was so deeply in her toils that she need make no furthereffort to enslave him. 

She had really nothing in common with Parker; their conversationwas composed entirely of personalities about their variousfriends, and Leila felt it a great burden, and dreaded the hoursshe must perforce spend alone with her future husband. It would bemuch better when they were married, of course, but they could noteven begin to talk wedding plans yet, because Parker lived innervous terror of his aunt's disapproval, and Mrs. WattsFrothingham was just now in Europe, and had not yet seen fit toanswer her nephew's dignified notification of his new plans, orthe dutiful and gracious note with which Miss Leila hadaccompanied it. 

The truth, though Leila did not know it, was that Mrs. Frothinghamhad a pretty social secretary named Margaret Clay, a strange, attractive little person, eighteen years old, whose mother hadbeen the old lady's companion for many years. And to Magsie, asthey all called her, young Mr. Hoyt had paid some decidedattention not many months before. Mrs. Frothingham had seen fit todisapprove these advances then, but she was an extraordinarilyerratic and cross-grained old lady, and her silence now had forcedher nephew uncomfortably to suspect that she might have changedher mind. 

"Darn it!" said the engaging youth to himself "It's none of herbusiness, anyway, what I do!" But it made him acutely uneasy nonethe less. He was the possessor of a good income, as he stoodthere, this mild little blond; it came to him steadily andregularly, with no effort at all on his part, but, with his aunt'smillion--it must be at least that--he felt that he would have beenmuch happier. There it was, safe in the family, and she wasseventy-six, and without a direct heir. It would be too bad tomiss it now!

He thought of it a great deal, was thinking of it this moment, infact, and Leila suspected that he was. But Mrs. Buckney, asidefrom a half-formed wish that young persons were more demonstrativein these days, and that the wedding might be soon, had not a carein the world, and, after a moment's unresponsive silence, returnedblithely to her query about Clarence Breckenridge. 

"I haven't seen him, " responded one of her daughters presently. "Funny, too! Last year he didn't miss a day. "

"Of course he'll get the cup as usual, this year, " Mrs. Buckneysaid brightly. "But I don't suppose young people with their headsfull of wedding plans will care much about the golf!" she addedcourageously. 

To this Miss Leila answered only with a weary shrug. 

"Been drinking lately, " Mr. Hoyt volunteered. 

"You say he has?" Mrs. Buckney took him up promptly. "Is that so?I knew he did all the time, of course, but I hadn't heard lately. Well--! Pretty hard on Mrs. Breckenridge, isn't it?"

"Pretty hard on his daughter, " Miss Leila drawled. "He has allkinds of money, hasn't he, Park?"

"Scads, " said Mr. Hoyt succinctly. Conversation languished. MissLeila presently said decidedly that unless her mother stood still, the sun, which was indeed sinking low in the western sky, got ineveryone's eyes. Miss Edith said that she was dying for tea; Mr. Hoyt's watch was consulted. Four o'clock; it was a little tooearly for tea. 

At about five o'clock the sunlight was softened by a steadilyrising bank of fog, which drifted in from the east; a mist almostlike a light rain beat upon the faces of the last golfers. Therewere no riders on the bridle path now, and the long line of motorcars parked by the clubhouse doors began to move and shift andlessen. People with dinner engagements melted mysteriously away, lights bloomed suddenly in the dining-room, shades were drawn andawnings furled. 

But in the club's great central apartment--which was reception-room, lounging-room, and tea-room, and which, opened to theimmense porches, was used for dances in summer, and closed andholly-trimmed, was the scene of many a winter dance as well--adozen good friends and neighbors lingered for tea. The women, sunkin deep chairs about the blazing logs in the immense fireplace, gossiped in low tones together, punctuating their talk with anoccasional burst of soft laughter. The men watched teacups, addingan occasional comment to the talk, but listening in silence forthe most part, their amused eyes on the women's interested faces. 

Here was a representative group, ranging in age from old PeterPomeroy, who had been one of the club's founders twelve years ago, and at sixty was one of its prominent members to-day, to lovelyVivian Sartoris, a demure, baby-faced little blonde of eighteen, who might be confidently expected to make a brilliant match in ayear or two. Peter, slim, hard, gray-haired and leaden-skinned, well-groomed and irreproachably dressed, was discussing acotillion with Mrs. Sartoris, a stout, florid little woman who wasonly twice her daughter's age. Mrs. Sartoris really did look youngto be the mother of a popular debutante; she rode and played golfand tennis as briskly as ever; it was her pose to bring up thesubject of age at all times, and to threaten Vivian with terriblepenalties if she dared marry before her mother was forty at least. 

Old Peter Pomeroy, who had a shrewd and disillusioned gray eye, thought, as everyone else thought, that Mrs. Sartoris was anempty-headed little fool, but he rarely talked to a woman who wasanything else, and no woman ever thought him anything but markedlycourteous and gallant. He was old now, rich, unmarried, quitealone in the world. For forty years he had kept all the women ofhis acquaintance speculating as to his plans; marriageable womenespecially--perhaps fifty of them--had been able in allmaidenliness to indicate to him that they might easily bepersuaded to share the Pomeroy name and fortune. But Peter went onkissing their hands, and thrilling them with an intimate casualword now and then, and did no more. 

Perhaps he smiled about it sometimes, in the privacy of his ownapartments--apartments which were variously located in a greatcity hotel, an Adirondacks camp, a luxurious club, his own yacht, and the beautiful home he had built for himself within a mile ofthe spot where he was now having his tea. Sometimes it seemedamusing to him that so many traps were laid for him. He couldappraise women quickly, and now and then he teased a woman of hisacquaintance with a delightfully worded description of his idealof a wife. If the woman thereafter carelessly indicated thepossession of the desired qualities in herself, Peter saw that, too, but she never knew it, and never saw him laughing at her. Shewent on for a month or two dressing brilliantly for his carefullychaperoned little dinners, listening absorbed to his dissertationsupon Japanese prints or draperies from Peshawar, until Peter grewtired and drew off, when she must put a brave face upon it and doher share to show that she realized that the little game was over. 

He had not been entirely without feminine companionship, however, during the half-century of his life as a man. Everybody knewsomething--and suspected a great deal more--of various friendshipsof his. Even the girls knew that Peter Pomeroy was not over-cautious in the management of his affairs, but they did not likehim the less, nor did their mothers find him less eligible, in amatrimonial sense. Sometimes he met the older women's hints quiteseriously, with brief allusions to some "little girl" who wasalways as sweet and deserving and virtuous as his own fatherlyinterference in her affairs was disinterested and kind. "I didwhat I could for her--risking what might or might not be said, "Mr. Pomeroy might add, with a hero's modest smile and shrug. Andif nobody ever believed him, at least nobody ever challenged him. 

Vivian Sartoris, girlishly perched on the great square leatherfender that framed the fireplace, was merely a modern, a verymodern, little girl, demurely dressed in the smartest of whitetaffeta ruffles, with her small feet in white silk stockings andshoes, a daring little black-and-white hat mashed down upon hersoft, loose hair, and, slung about her shoulders, a woolly coat ofclearest lemon yellow. Vivian gave the impression of a soft littlewatchful cat, unfriendly, alert, selfish. Her manner was studiedlyrowdyish, her speech marred by slang; she loved only a few personsin the world besides herself. One of these few persons, however, was Clarence Breckenridge's daughter, Carol, affectionately knownto all these persons as "Billy, " and it was in Miss Breckenridge'sdefence that Vivian was speaking now. A general yet desultorydiscussion of the three Breckenridges had been going on for somemoments. And some particular criticism of the man of the familyhad pierced Miss Sartoris' habitual attitude of bored silence. 

"That's all true about him, " she said, idly spreading a sturdylittle hand to the blaze. "I have no use for ClarenceBreckenridge, and I think Mrs. Breckenridge is absolutely the mostcold-blooded woman I ever met! She always makes me feel as if shewere waiting to see me make a fool of myself, so that she couldsmile that smooth superior smile at me. But Carol's different--she's square, she is; she's just top-hole--if you know what Imean--she's the finest ever, " finished Miss Sartoris, with acarefully calculated boyishness, "and what I mean to say is, she'snever had a fair deal!"

There was a little murmur of assent and admiration at this, andonly one voice disputed it. 

"You're not called upon to defend Billy Breckenridge, Vivian, "said Elinor Vanderwall, in her cool, amused voice. "Nobody'sblaming Billy, and Rachael Breckenridge can stand on her own feet. But what we're saying is that Clarence, in spite of what they doto protect him, will get himself dropped by decent people if hegoes on as he IS going on! He was tennis champion four or fiveyears ago; he played against an Englishman named Waters, who wasabout half his age; it was the most remarkable thing I ever saw--"

"Wonderful match!" said Peter Pomeroy, as she paused. 

"Wonderful--I should say so!" Miss Vanderwall sighed admiringly atthe memory. "Do you remember that one set went to nineteen--twenty-one? Each man won on his own service--'most remarkablematch I ever saw! But Clarence Breckenridge couldn't hold a racketnow, and his game of bridge is getting to be absolutely rotten. Crime, I call it!"

Vivian Sartoris offered no further remark. Indeed she had driftedinto a low-toned conversation with a young man on the fender. Elinor Vanderwall was neither pretty nor rich, and she wasunmarried at thirty-four, her social importance being furtherlessened by the fact that she had five sisters, all unmarried, too, except Anna, the oldest, whose son was in college. Anna wasMrs. Prince; her wedding was only a long-ago memory now. Georgiana, who came next, was a calm, plain woman of thirty-seven, interested in church work and organized charities. Alice wasmusical and delicate. Elinor was worldly, decisive, the socialfavorite among the sisters. Jeanette was boyish and brisk, asplendid sportswoman, and Phyllis, at twenty-six, was stillbabyish and appealing, tiny in build, and full of feminine charms. 

All five were good dancers, good tennis and golf players, goodhorsewomen, and good managers. All five dressed well, talked well, and played excellent bridge. The fact of their not marrying was aneternal mystery to their friends, to their wiry, nervous littlefather, and their large, fat, serene mother; perhaps to themselvesas well. They met life, as they saw it, with great cleverness, making it a rule to do little entertaining at home, where thepreponderance of women was most notable, and refusing to acceptinvitations except singly. The Vanderwall girls were rarely seentogether; each had her pose and kept to it, each helped the othersto maintain theirs in turn. Alice's music, Georgiana's altruisticduties, these were matters of sacred family tradition, and ifoutsiders sometimes speculated as to the sisters' sincerity, atleast no Vanderwall ever betrayed another. And despite theirobvious handicaps, the five girls were regarded as socialauthorities, and their names were prominently displayed innewspaper accounts of all smart affairs. While making a fine artof feminine friendships, they yet diffused a general impression ofbeing involved in endless affairs of the heart. They were much indemand to fill in bridge tables, to serve on club directorates, toamuse week-end parties, to be present at house weddings, and toremain with the family for the first blank day or two after thebride and groom were gone. 

"Queer fellow, Breckenridge, " said George Pomeroy, old Peter'snephew, a red-faced, florid, simple man of forty. 

"Well, he never should have married as he did, it's all in amess, " a woman's voice said lazily. "Rachael's extraordinary ofcourse--there's no one quite like her. But she wasn't the womanfor him. Clarence wanted the little, clinging, adoring kind, whowould put cracked ice on his forehead, and wish those badsaloonkeepers would stop drugging her dear big boy. Rachael looksright through him; she doesn't fight, she doesn't care enough tofight. She's just supremely bored by his weakness and stupidity. He isn't big enough for her, either in goodness or badness. Inever knew what she married him for, and I don't believe anyoneelse ever did!"

"I did, for one, " said Miss Vanderwall, flicking the ashes fromher cigarette with a well-groomed fingertip. "ClarenceBreckenridge never was in love but once in his life--no, I don'tmean with Paula. I mean with Billy. " And as a general nodding ofheads confirmed this theory, the speaker went on decidedly: "Sincethat child was born she's been all the world to him. When he andPaula were divorced--she was the offender--he fretted himself sickfor fear he'd done that precious five-year-old an injury. Shedidn't get on with her grandmother, she drove governesses insane, for two or three years there was simply no end of trouble. Finallyhe took her abroad, for the excellent reason that she wanted togo. In Paris they ran into Rachael Fairfax and her mother--let'ssee, that was seven years ago. Rachael was only about twenty-oneor two then. But she'd been out since she was sixteen. She had thebel air, she was beautiful--not as pretty as she is now, perhaps--and of course her father was dead, and Rachael was absolutely onthe make. She took both Clarence and Billy in hand. I understandthe child was wearing jewelry and staying up until all hours everynight. Rachael mothered her, and of course the child came toadmire her. The funny thing is that Rachael and Billy hit it offvery well to this day. 

"She and Clarence were married quietly, and came home. And I don'tthink it was weeks, it was DAYS--and not many days--later, thatRachael realized what a fool she'd been. Clarence had eyes for noone but the girl, and of course she was a fascinating littlecreature, and she's more fascinating every year. "

"She's not as attractive as Rachael at that, " said Peter Pomeroy. 

"I know, my dear Peter, " Miss Vanderwall assented quickly. "ButBilly's impulsive, and affectionate, at least, and Rachael isneither. Anyway, Billy's at the age now when she can't think ofanything but herself. Her frocks, her parties, her friends--that'sall Clarence cares about!"

"Selfish ass!" said a man's voice in the firelight. 

"I KNOW Clarence takes Carol and her friends off on week-endtrips, " some woman said, "and leaves Rachael at home. If Rachaelwants the car, she has to ask them their plans. If she accepts adinner invitation, why, Clarence may drop out the last momentbecause Carol's going to dine alone at home and wants her Daddy. "

"Rachael's terribly decent about it, " said the deep voice of oldMrs. Torrence, who was chaperoning a grandson, glad of any excuseto be at the club. "Upon my word I wouldn't be! She will breakfastupstairs many a morning because Clarence likes Carol to pour hiscoffee. And when that feller comes home tipsy--"

"Five nights a week!" supplemented Peter Pomeroy. 

"Five nights a week, " the old lady agreed, nodding, "she makes himcomfortable, quiets the house, and telephones around generallythat Clarence has come home with a splitting headache, and theycan't come--to dinner, or cards, or whatever it may be. But ofcourse I don't claim that she loves him, nor pretends to. I canimagine the scornful look with which she goes about it. "

"Well, why does she stand it?" said Mrs. Barker Emory, a handsomebut somewhat hard-faced woman, with a manner curiously compoundedof eagerness and uncertainty. 

"Y'know, that's what I've been wondering, " an Englishman addedinterestedly. 

"Why, what else would she do?" Miss Vanderwall asked briskly. 

"Rachael's a perfectly adorable and brilliant and delightfulcreature, " summarized Peter Pomeroy, "but she's not got a pennynor a relative in the world that I've ever heard of! She's got nogrounds for divorcing Clarence, and if she simply wanted to getout, why, now that she's brought Billy up, introduced hergenerally, whipped the girl into some sort of shape and got herthe right sort of friends, I suppose she might get out andwelcome!"

"No, Billy honestly likes her, " objected Vivian Sartoris. 

"She doesn't care for her enough to see that there's fair play, "Elinor Vanderwall said quickly. 

"Why doesn't she take a leaf from Paula's book, " somebodysuggested, "and marry again? She could go out West and get adivorce on any grounds she might choose to name. "

"Well, Rachael's a cold woman, and a hard woman--in a way, " MissVanderwall said musingly, after a pause, when the troubles of theBreckenridges kept the group silent for a moment. "But she's agood sport. She gets a home, and clothes, and the club, and a carand all the rest out of it, and she knows Billy and Clarence doneed her, in a way, to run things, and to keep up the social end. More than that, Clarence can't keep up this pace long--he's goingto pieces fast--and Billy may marry any day--"

"I understand Joe Pickering's a little bit touched in thatquarter, " said Mrs. Torrence. 

"Yes--well, Clarence will never stand for THAT, " somebody said. 

Little Miss Sartoris neglected the Torrence grandson long enoughto say decidedly:

"She wouldn't LOOK at Joe Pickering! Joe drinks, and Billy's hadenough of that with her father. Besides, he has no money of hisown! He's impossible!"

"Where's the mother all this time?" asked the Englishman. "I meanto say, she's living, isn't she, and all that?"

"Very much alive, " Miss Vanderwall said. "Married to an Italiancount--Countess Luca d' Asafo. His people have cut him off;they're Catholics. She has two little girls; there's an unclewho's obliged to leave property to a son, and it serves Paulaquite right, I think. Where they live, or what on, I haven't theremotest idea. I saw her in a car on Fifth Avenue, not so longago, with two heavy little black-haired girls; she looked sixty. "

"Her sister, you know, was thick with my niece, BarbaraOlliphant, " said Peter Pomeroy. "And funny thing!--when Barbarawas married. .. "

It was a long story, and fortunately moved away from the previoustopic; so that when it was presently interrupted by the arrival oftwo women, everybody in the group had cause to feel gratitude fora merciful deliverance. 

The two women were Rachael and Carol Breckenridge, who came in alittle breathless, the throbbing engine of their motor car stillsounding faintly from the direction of the club doorway. Carol, aslender, black-eyed, dusky-skinned girl of seventeen, took herplace beside Miss Sartoris on the fender, granting a briefunsmiling nod to one or two friends, and eying the group betweenthe loose locks of her smoky, cropped black hair with theinscrutable, almost brooding, expression that was her favoriteaffectation. Her lithe, loosely built little body was as flat as aboy's, she clasped her crossed knees with slender, satin-smoothlittle brown hands, exposing by her attitude a frill ofembroidered petticoat, a transparent stretch of ash-gray silkstocking, and smart ash-gray buckskin slippers with silverbuckles. 

She was an effective little figure in the mingled twilight andfirelight, but it was toward her beautiful stepmother thateverybody looked as Rachael Breckenridge seated herself on the armof old Mrs. Torrence's chair and sent a careless greeting aboutthe circle. 

"Hello, everybody!" she said, in a voice of extraordinary richnessand sweetness, "Peter, Dolly, Vivian--HELLO, Elinor! How do youdo, Mrs. Emory?" There was an aside when the newcomer saidimperatively to a club attendant, "We'll have some light here, please!" Then she resumed easily: "I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Emory, I interrupted you--"

"I only said that you were a little late for tea, " said Mrs. Emory, sweetly, wishing with a sort of futile rage that she couldlearn to say almost nothing when this other woman, with herinsulting bright air of making one feel inferior, was about. TheEmorys had lived in Belvedere Hills for two years, coming fromDenver with much money and irrefutable credentials. They had beenmembers of the club perhaps half that time, members in goodstanding. But Mrs. Emory would have paid a large sum to haveRachael Breckenridge call her "Belle, " and Rachael Breckenridgeknew it. 

The lights, duly poured in a soft flood from all sides of theroom, revealed in Mrs. Breckenridge one of those beauties that anolder generation of diarists and letter writers frankly spelledwith a capital letter as distinguishing her charms from those of athousand of lesser degree. When such beauty is unaccompanied byintellect it is a royal dower, and its possessor may serenelycommand half a century of unquestioning adoration from the sons ofmen, and all the good things of life as well. 

But when there is a soul behind the matchless eyes, and a keen witanimates the lovely mouth, and when the indication of the whiteforehead is not belied, it is a nice question whether great beautybe a gift of benign or malicious fairies. Not a woman in this roomor in any room she entered could look at Rachael Breckenridgewithout a pang; her supremacy was beyond all argument or dispute. And yet there was neither complacency nor content in the lovelyface; it wore its usual expression of arrogant amusement at asomewhat tiresome world. 

Both in the instant impression it made, and under closestanalysis, Rachael Breckenridge's beauty stood all tests. Hercolorless skin was as pure as ivory, her dark-blue eyes, surrounded by that faint sooty color that only Irish eyes know, were set far apart and evenly arched by perfect brows. Her whiteforehead was low and broad, the lustreless black hair was sweptback from it with almost startling simplicity, the line of hermouth was long, her lips a living red. Her figure, as she satbalancing carelessly on a chair-arm, showed the exquisite curvesof a woman slow to develop, who is approaching the height of herbeauty, and from the tip of her white shoe to the poppies on hersoft straw hat there was that distinction in her clothing thatbetrayed her to be one of the few who may be always individual yetalways in the fashion. She was a woman, quick, dynamic, impatient, who vitalized the very atmosphere in which she moved, challenginglife by endless tests and measures, scornful of admiration, andambitious, even in this recognized ambition of finding herselfbeautiful, prominent, and a rich man's wife, for something furtherand greater, she knew not what. She was an important figure inthis world of hers; her word was authority, her decree law. Neverwas censure so quick as hers, never criticism so biting, or satireso witty. No human emotion was too sacred to form a target for herglancing arrows, nor was any affection deep enough to arouse inher anything but doubt and scorn. 

"I don't want any tea, thank you, Peter, " she said now, in theastonishingly rich voice that seemed to fill the words with newmeaning. "And I won't allow the Infant to have any--no, Billy, youshall not. You've got a complexion, child; respect it. Besides, you've just had some. Besides, we're here for only two seconds--it's six o'clock. We're looking for Clarence--we seek a husbandfond, a parent dear--"

"Clarence hasn't showed up here at all to-day, " said PeterPomeroy, stretching back comfortably in his chair, appreciativeeyes upon Clarence's wife. "Shame, too, for we had some good golf. Course is in splendid condition. George beat me three up and twoto play, but I don't bear any malice. Here I am signing for hishighball. "

"Well, then, we'll go on home, " Mrs. Breckenridge said, without, however, changing her relaxed position. "Clarence is probablythere; we've been playing cards at the Parmalees', or at least Ihave. Billy and Katrina were playing tennis with Kent and--who'sthe red-headed child you were enslaving this afternoon, Bill?"

"Porter Pinckard, " Miss Breckenridge answered, indifferently, before entering into a confidential exchange of brevities withMiss Sartoris. 

"I'll call him out, and run him through the liver, " said PeterPomeroy, "the miserable catiff! I'll brook no rivals, Billy. "

Billy merely smiled lazily at this; her eyes were far moreeloquent than her tongue, as she was well aware. 

"Let her alone, Fascination Fledgerby!" said Mrs. Breckenridgebriskly. "Why can't we take you home with us, Elinor? We go yourway. "

"You may, " said Miss Vanderwall, rising. "You're dining at theChases', aren't you, Billy? So am I. But I was going to changehere. Where are you dining, Rachael?"

"Change at my house, " Mrs. Breckenridge suggested, or rathercommanded. "I'm dining in my room, I think. I'm all in. " But theclear and candid eyes deceived no one. Clarence was misbehavingagain, everybody decided, and poor Rachael could not bespeak fiveminutes of her own time until this particular period ofintemperance was over. Miss Vanderwall, settling herself in thebeautiful Breckenridge car five minutes later, faced the situationboldly. 

"Where's Clarence, Rachael?"

"I haven't the remotest idea, my dear woman, " said Mrs. Breckenridge frankly, yet with a warning glance at the back of herstepdaughter's head. Billy was at the wheel. "He didn't dine athome last night--"

"But we knew where he was, " Billy said quickly, half turning. 

"We knew where he was, " agreed the older woman. "Watch whereyou're going, Bill! He told Alfred that he was dining in town, with a friend, talking business. "

"I thought it was the night of Berry Stokes' dinner, " suggestedMiss Vanderwall. 

"He wasn't there--I asked him not to go, " said Billy. 

"Oh--" Miss Vanderwall began and then abruptly stopped. "Oh!" saidshe mildly, in polite acquiescence. 

They were sweeping through the April roadsides so swiftly that itwas only a moment later when Rachael, reaching for the door, remarked cheerfully, "Here we are!"

The car had entered a white stone gateway, and was approaching acertain charming country mansion, one that was not conspicuousamong a thousand others strewn over the neighboring hills andvalleys, but a beautiful home nevertheless. Vines climbed thebrick chimneys, and budding hydrangeas, in pots, topped the whitebalustrades of the porch. A hundred little details of perfectfurnishing would have been taken for granted by the casualonlooker, yet without its lawns, its awnings, its window boxes andsnowy curtaining, its glimpse of screened veranda and wickerchairs, its trim assembly of garage, stable, and servants'cottages, its porte-cochere, sleeping porches, and tennis court, it would have seemed incomplete and uncomfortable to its owners. 

Rachael Breckenridge neither liked it nor disliked it. It had beenher home for the seven years of her married life, except for themonth or two she spent every winter in a New York hotel. She hadnever had any great happiness in it, to be sure, but then her lifehad been singularly lacking in moments of real happiness, and shehad valued other elements, and desired other elements more. Shehad not expected to be happy in this house, she had expected to berich and envied, and secure, and she was all of these things. Thatthey were not worth attaining, no one knew better than Rachaelnow. 

The house was of course a great care to her, the more so becauseBilly was in it so little, and was so frankly eager for the timewhen she should leave it and go to a house of her own, and becauseClarence was absolutely indifferent to it in his better moods, andpleased with nothing when he was in the grip of his besetting sin. The Breckenridges did little formal entertaining, but the man ofthe house liked to bring men down from town for week-end visits, and Billy brought her young friends in and out with youthfulindifference to domestic regulations, so that on Rachael, ashousekeeper, there fell no light burden. 

She carried it gracefully, knitting her handsome brows as theseasons brought about their endless problems, discussing bulbswith old Rafael in the garden when the snow melted, discussingpaper and paint in the first glory of May, superintending themaking of iced drinks on the hot summer afternoons, and in Octoberfilling her woodroom duly with the great logs that would blazeneglected in the drawing-room fireplace all winter long. The housewas not large, as such houses go; too much room was wasted by avery modern architect in linen closets and coat closets, bathroomsand hall space, dressing-rooms, passages, and nooks and cornersgenerally. Yet Rachael's guest-rooms were models in their way, andwhen she gave a luncheon the women who came were always ready toexclaim in despairing admiration over the beauty of the gardens, the flower-filled, airy rooms, the table appointments, and thehostess herself. 

But when they said that she was "wonderful"--and it was theinevitable word for Rachael Breckenridge-the general meaning wentdeeper than this. She was wonderful in her pride, the dignity andthe silence of her attitude toward her husband; she had been awonderful mother to Clarence's daughter; not a loving mother, perhaps--she was not loving to anyone--but a miracle ofdetermination and clearness of vision. 

Who else, her friends wondered, could have cleared the socialhorizon for Paula Breckenridge's daughter so effectively? Withwhat brisk resoluteness the new mother had cut short the aimlessEuropean wanderings, cropped the child's artificially curled hair, given away the unsuitable silk stockings and the ridiculous frocksand hats. Billy, shorn and bewildered, had been brought home; hadentered Miss Proctor's select school, entered Miss Roger's selectdancing class, entered Professor Darling's expensive ridingclasses. Billy, in dark-blue Peter Thompsons, in black stockingsand laced boots, had been dropped in among other little girls inPeter Thompsons and laced boots, little girls with the approvednames of Whittaker and Bowditch, Moran and Merridew and Parmalee. 

Billy had never doubted her stepmother's judgment; like all of thenew Mrs. Breckenridge's friends, she was deeply, dumbly impressedwith that lady's amazing efficiency. She had been a spoiled anddiscontented little rowdy. She became an entirely self-satisfiedlittle gentlewoman. Clarence, jealously watching her progress, knew that Rachael was doing for his daughter far more than hecould ever do himself. 

But Rachael, if she had expected reward, reaped none. Her husbandwas a supremely selfish man, and his daughter inherited hissublime ability to protect his own pleasure at any cost. Caroladmired her step-mother, but she was an indolent and luxury-lovinglittle soul, and even as early as her twelfth or fourteenth yearshe had been deeply flattered by the evidences of her own powerover her father. Into her youthful training no reverence forparents--real or adopted--had been infused; she called her father"Clancy, " as some of his intimate friends called him, and hedelighted to take her orders and bow to her pretty tyranny. 

Before she was sixteen he began to take her about with him: todances, to the theatre, and for long trips in his car. He enteredeagerly into her young friendships, frantic to prove himself asyoung at heart as she. He paid her the extravagant compliments ofa lover, and gave her her grandmother's beautiful jewelry, as wellas every trinket that caught her eye. 

And Billy accepted his attentions with a finished coquetry thatwas far from childlike, a flush on her satin cheek, a dimplepuckering the corner of her mouth, and silky lashes lowered overher satisfied eyes. She was inevitably precocious in many ways, but she was young enough still to fancy herself one of theirresistible beauties and belles of the world, and to flaunt aperfectly conscious arrogance in the eyes of all other women. 

All this was bewildering and painful to Rachael. She had neverloved her husband--love entered into none of her relationships--her marriage had been only a step in the steady progress of herlife toward the position she desired in the world. But she hadliked him. She had liked his child, and she had come into the newarrangement kindly and gallantly determined to make the venture atleast as profitable to them both as it was to her. 

To be ignored, to be deliberately set aside, to be insulted by aselfishness so calculating and so deliberate as to make her ownattitude seem all warmth and generosity by comparison, genuinelyastonished her. At first, indeed, a sort of magnificent impatiencehad prevented her from feeling any stronger emotion thanastonishment. It was too ridiculous, said the bride to herselftolerantly; it could not go on, of course, this preposterousconsideration of a child of ten, this belittling consideration ofher own place in the scheme as less Clarence's wife than Billy'smother. It must adjust itself with every week that they threelived together, the child slipping back to her own life, thehusband and wife sharing theirs. When Clarence's first fears forhis daughter's comfort under the new rule were set at rest, whenhis confidence in the wisdom and efficiency of his wife was fullyestablished, then a normal relationship must ensue. "SurelyClarence wouldn't ask a woman to marry him just to give Billy ahome and social backing?" Rachael asked herself, in those firstpuzzled days in Paris. 

That was seven years ago. She knew exactly that for truth now. Long ago she had learned that whatever impulse had moved ClarenceBreckenridge to ask her to marry him was quickly displaced by hisvision of Billy's need as being greater than his own. 

It had been an unpalatable revelation, for Rachael was a womanproud as well as beautiful. But presently she had accepted thesituation as it stood, somehow fighting her way, as the years wentby, to fresh acceptances: the acceptance of Billy's ripeningcharms, the acceptance of Clarence's more and more frequent timesof inebriated irresponsibility. Silently she made her mentaladjustments, moving through her gay and empty life in anunsuspected bitterness of solitude, won to protest and rebelliononly when the cold surface she presented to the world wasthreatened from within or without. 

It was distinctly threatened now, she realized with a little sicktwist of apprehension at heart, when her casual inquiry to a maidupon entering was answered by a discreet, "Yes, Mrs. Breckenridge, Mr. Breckenridge came home half an hour ago. Alfred is with him. "

This was unexpected. Rachael did not glance either at her guest orher stepdaughter, but she disposed of them both in a breath. 

"Someone wants you on the telephone, Billy, " she repeated afterthe maid's information. "Take it in the library. Run right up tomy room, Elinor, and I'll be there in two minutes. I'll send someone in with towels and brushes; you've time for a tub. Take thesethings, Helda, and give them to Annie, and tell her to lookout forMiss Vanderwall. "

The square entrance hall was sweet with flowers in the earlyspring evening, Oriental rugs were spread on the dull mirror ofthe floor, opened doors gave glimpses of airy colonial interiors, English chintzes crowded with gay colored fruits and flowers, brick fireplaces framed in classic white and showing a brave gleamof brass firedogs in the soft lamplight. Not a book on the longtables, not an etching on the dull rich paper of the walls, strucka false note. It was all exquisitely in tone. 

But Rachael Breckenridge, at best, saw less its positiveperfections than the tiniest opening through which an imperfectionmight push its way, and in such an hour as this she saw it not atall. Her mouth a trifle firm in its outline, her face a littlepale, she went quickly up the wide white stairway and along theopen balcony above. There were several doors on this balcony, which was indeed the upper hall. Mrs. Breckenridge opened one ofthem without knocking, and closed it noiselessly behind her. 

The room into which she admitted herself presented exactly thepicture she had expected. The curtains, again of richly coloredcretonne, were drawn, a softly toned lamp on the reading table, and another beside the bed, cast circles of pleasant light on thecomfortable wicker chairs, the cream-colored woodwork, and thescattered books and magazines. Several photographs of Carol, beautifully framed, were on bookcase and dresser, and a fine oilpainting of the child at fourteen looked down from the mantel. Onthe bed, a mahogany four-poster, with carved pineapples finishingthe posts, the frilled cretonne cover had been flung back; Mr. Breckenridge had retired; his blond head was sunk in the pillows;he clutched the blankets about him with his arms, his face was notvisible. 

A quiet manservant, who was by turns butler, chauffeur, and valet, was stepping softly about the room. Rachael interrogated him in alow tone:

"Asleep, Alfred?"

"Oh, no, ma'am!" the man said quickly. "He's been feeling ill. Hesays he has a chill. "

"When did he get home?" the wife asked. 

"About half an hour ago, Mrs. Breckenridge. Mr. Butler telephonedme. Some of the gentlemen were going on--to one of the beachhotels for dinner, I believe, but Mr. Breckenridge felt himselftoo unwell to join them, so I went for him with the little car, and Mr. Joe Butler and Mr. Parks came home with him, Mrs. Breckenridge. "

"Do you know if he went to bed last night at all?"

"No, ma'am, he said he did not. All the gentlemen looked as ifthey--looked as if they might have--" Alfred hesitated delicately. "It was Mr. Berry Stokes' bachelor dinner, " he presently added. 

At this moment there was a convulsion in the bed, and the red faceof Clarence Breckenridge revealed itself. The eyes werebloodstained, the usually pale skin flushed and oily, the fair, thin hair tumbled across a high and well-developed forehead. Rachael knew every movement of the red and swollen lips, everytone of the querulous voice. 

"Does Alfred have to stay up here doing a chambermaid's work?"demanded the man of the house fretfully. "My God! Can you or can'tyou manage--between your teas and card parties--to get someoneelse to put this room in order?" He ended in a long moan, anddropped his head again into the pillows. 

"Do you know what he wants?" Rachael asked the man in a quickwhisper. "Go down and get it, then!"

"I'm co-o-old!" said the man in the bed, going into a sudden andviolent chill. "I've caught my death, I think. Joe made a punch--some sort of an eggnog--eggs were bad, I think. I'm poisoned. Thestuff was rotten!" He sank mumbling back into the pillows. 

Rachael, who had been hanging his coat carefully in the big closetadjoining his room, came to the bedside and laid her cool fingerson his burning forehead. If irrepressible distaste was visible inher face, it was only a faint reflection of the burning resentmentin her heart. 

"You've got a fever, Clarence, " she announced quietly. The answerwas only a furious and incoherent burst of denunciation; thepatient was in utter physical discomfort, and could not choose histerms. Rachael--not for the first nor the hundredth time--feltwithin her an impulse to leave him here, leave him to outwear hismiseries without her help. But this she could not do withoutthrowing the house into an uproar. Clarence at these times had noconsideration for public opinion, had no dignity, no self-control. Much better satisfy him, as she had done so many times before, andkeep a brave face to the world. 

So she placed a hot-water bag against his cold feet, went to herown room adjoining to borrow a fluffy satin comforter with whichto augment his own bed covering, laid an icy towel upon histhrobbing forehead, and when Alfred presently appeared with adecanter of whisky, Rachael watched her husband eagerly gulp downa glass of it without uttering one word of the bitter protest thatrose to her lips. 

She was not a prude, with the sublime inconsistency of most womenwhose lives are made the darker for drink; she did not identifyherself with any movement toward prohibition, or refuse thecocktails, the claret, and the wine that were customarily servedat her own and at other people's dinner-tables. But she hatedcoarseness in any form, she hated contact with the sodden, self-pitying, ugly animal that Clarence Breckenridge became under theinfluence of drink. 

To-night, when he presently fell asleep, somewhat more comfortablein body, and soothed in spirit by the promise of a visit from thedoctor, Rachael went into her own room and sinking into a deepchair sat staring stupidly at the floor. She did not think of thehusband she had just left, nor of the formal dinner party beinggiven, only half a mile away, to a great English novelist--adinner to which the Breckenridges had of course been asked andupon which Rachael had weeks ago set her heart. She was tired, andher thoughts floated lazily about nothing at all, or into someopaque region of their own knowing, where the ills of the bodymight not follow. 

Presently Miss Vanderwall, clothed in a trailing robe of softArabian cotton, came briskly out of the bathroom, her short darkhair hanging in a mane about her rosy face. 

"Why so pensive, Rachael?" she asked cheerfully, pressing a buttonthat lighted the circle of globes about the dressing-table mirror, and seating herself before it. But under her loose locks she senta keen and concerned look at her hostess' thoughtful face. 

"Tired, " Rachael answered briefly, not changing her attitude, butwith a fleeting shadow of a smile. 

"How's Clancy?"

"Asleep. He's wretched, poor fellow! Berry Stokes' bachelordinner, you know. That crowd is bad for him. "

"I KNEW it must have been an orgy!" Miss Vanderwall declaredvivaciously. "That was a silly slip of mine in the car. Billydoesn't know he went, I suppose?"

"No, he promised her he wouldn't. But everyone was at the dinner. Some of them came home early, I believe. But it was all keptquiet, because Aline Pearsall is such a little shrinking violet, Isuppose, " Mrs. Breckenridge said. "The Pearsalls are to think itwas just an impromptu affair. Billy and Aline of course have noidea what a party it was. But Clarence says that poor Berry wasworse than he, and a few of them are still keeping it up. It's ashame, of course--"

Her uninterested voice dropped into silence. 

"Men are queer, " Miss Vanderwall said profoundly, busy with ivory-backed brushes, powders, and pastes. 

"The mystery to me--about men, " mused Mrs. Breckenridge, herabsent eyes upon the buckled slipper she held in her hand, "is notthat they are as helpless as babies the moment anything goes wrongwith their poor little heads or their poor little tummies, butthat they work so hard, in spite of that, to increase the generaldiscomfort of living. Women have a great deal of misery to bear, they are brave or cowardly about it as the case may be, but atleast they endure and renounce and diet and keep early hours--orwhatever's to be done--they TRY to lessen the sum of physicalmisery. But men go cheerily on--they smoke too much, and eat toomuch, and drink too much, and they bring the resulting miserysweetly and confidently to some woman to bear for them. It'shopeless!"

"H'm!" was Miss Vanderwall's thoughtful comment. Presently sheadded dubiously: "Did you ever think that another child might makea big difference to Clarence, Rachael? That he might come to carefor a son as he does for Billy, don't you know--"

"Oh, I wasn't speaking of Clarence, " Mrs. Breckenridge saidcoldly. And Elinor, recognizing a false step, winced inwardly. 

"No, I didn't suppose you were!" she assented hastily. 

"If there's one thing I AM thankful for, " Rachael presently saidmoodily, "it's that I haven't a child. I'm rather fond of kiddies--nice kiddies, myself; and Clarence likes children, too. Butthings are quite bad enough now without that complication!" Shebrushed the loosened hair from her face restlessly, and sighed. "Sometimes, when I see the other girls, " said she, "I think I'dmake a rather good mother! However"--and getting suddenly to herfeet, she flung up her head as if to be rid of the subject--"however, my dear, we shall never know! Don't mind me to-night, Elinor, I'm in a horrible mood, it will take nothing at all to setme off in what Bill used to call a regilyer tant'um!"

"Tantrum nothing, " said Elinor, in eager sympathy, feeling withthe greatest relief that she was reinstated in Rachael's goodgraces after her stupid blunder. "I don't see how you stand it atall!"

"It isn't the drinking and headaches and general stupidity inthemselves, you know, " Rachael said, reverting to her originalargument, "but it's the atrocious UNNECESSITY of it! I don't mindClarence's doing as other men do, I certainly don't mind hiscaring so much for his daughter"--her fine brows drew together--"but where do _I_ come in?" she demanded with a quizzical smile. "What's MY life? I ask only decency and civility, and I don't getit. The very servants in this house pity me--they see it all. WhenClarence isn't himself, he needs me; when he is, he is all forBilly. I must apologize for breaking engagements; people don't askus out any more, and no wonder! I have to coax money out of himfor bills; Billy has her own check-book. I have to keep quiet whenI'm boiling all over. I have to defend myself when I know I'mbitterly, cruelly wronged!"

Neither woman had any scruples about the subject under discussion, but even to Elinor Rachael had never spoken so freely before, andthe guest, desperately attempting to remember every word for thedelectation of her family and friends later on, felt herself atonce honored and thrilled. 

"Rachael--but why do you stand it?"

Mrs. Breckenridge threw her a look full of all consciousforbearance. 

"Well, what would YOU do?"

"Well. I'd"--Miss Vanderwall arrested the hand with which she wascarefully spreading her lips with red paste, to fling it, with alarge gesture, into the air--"I'd--why don't you GET OUT? Simplydrop it all?" she asked. 

"For several reasons, " the other woman returned promptly with asort of hard, bright pride. "One very excellent one is that Ihaven't one penny. But I tell you, Elinor, if I knew how to put myhand on about a thousand dollars a year--there are little towns inFrance, I have friends in London--well"--and with a suddenstraightening of her whole body Rachael Breckenridge visiblyrallied herself--"well, what's the use of talking?" she said. But, as she rose abruptly, Elinor saw the glint of tears on her lashes, and said to herself with a sort of pleased terror that thingsbetween Clarence and Rachael must be getting serious indeed. 

She admired Mrs. Breckenridge deeply; more than that, the youngerwoman's friendship and patronage were valuable assets to MissVanderwall. But the social circle of Belvedere Hills was a smallcircle, and Elinor had spent every one of her thirty-five summers, or a part of every one, in just this limited group. There waslittle malice in her pleasure at getting this glimpse behind thescenes in Rachael's life; she would repeat her friend'sconfidence, later, with the calm of a person doing the acceptedand expected thing, with the complacence of one who proves herright to other revelations from her listeners in turn. It was bysuch proof judiciously displayed that Elinor held her place in thefront ranks of her own select little group of gossips andintimates. She wished the Breckenridges no harm, but if there weredark elements in their lives, Elinor enjoyed being the person towitness them. Thoughtfully adding a bloom to her cheeks with herfriend's exquisite powder, Miss Vanderwall reflected sagely that, when one came to think of it, it must really be rather rotten tobe married to Clarence Breckenridge. 

Rachael presently came back, with the signs of her recent emotionentirely effaced, and her wonderful skin glowing faintly from abath. Superbly independent of cosmetics, independent even of hermirror, she massed the thick short lengths of dark hair on the topof her head, thrust a jewelled pin through the coil, and began tohook herself into a lacy black evening gown that was loose andcomfortable. Before this was finished her stepdaughter rapped onthe door, and being invited, came in with the full self-consciousness of seventeen. 

"All hooked up straight?" asked Rachael. "That gown looks ratherwell. "

"Do you good women realize what time it is?" Miss Breckenridgeasked, by way of reply. 

"Has she got it a shade too short?" speculated Rachael, thoughtfuleyes on the girl's dress. 

"Well--I was wondering!" Carol said eagerly, flinging down herwrap, to turn and twist before a door that was a solid panel ofmirror. "What do you think--we'll dance. "

"Oh, not a bit, " Rachael presently decided. "They're all up to theknees this year, anyway. Car come round?"

"Long ago, " said Billy, and Elinor, reaching for her own wrap, declared herself ready. "I wish you were going, Rachael, " the girladded as she turned to follow their guest from the room. 

"Come back here a moment, Bill, " Mrs. Breckenridge said casually, seating herself at the dressing-table without a glance at herstepdaughter. For a moment Miss Breckenridge stood irresolute inthe doorway, then she reluctantly came in. 

"You're just seventeen, Billy, " said the older womanindifferently. "When you're eighteen, next March, I suppose youmay do as you please. But until then--either see a little less ofJoe Pickering, or else come right out in the open about it, andtell your father you want to see him here. This silly business oftelephoning and writing and meeting him, here, there, andeverywhere, has got to stop. "

Billy stared steadily at her stepmother, her breath coming quickand high, her cheeks red. 

"Who said I met him--places?" she said, in a seventeen-year-old-girl's idea of a tragic tone. Mrs. Breckenridge's answer to thiswas a shrug, a smile, and a motherly request not to be a fool. 

There was silence for a moment. Then Billy said recklessly:

"I like him. And you can't make me deny it!"

"Like him if you want to, " said Mrs. Breckenridge, "although whatyou can see in a man twice your age--with his particular history--However, it's your affair. But you'll have to tell your father. "

Billy shut her lips mutinously, her cheeks still scarlet. 

"I don't see why!" she burst forth proudly, at last. 

To this Mrs. Breckenridge offered no argument. Carefully filing apolished fingertip she said quietly:

"I didn't suppose you would. "

"And I think that if you tell him YOU interfere in a matter thatdoesn't in the LEAST concern you, " Billy pursued hotly, uncomfortably eager to strike an answering spark, and reduce theconversation to a state where mutual concessions might be inorder. "You have no BUSINESS to!"

Her stepmother was silent. She put on a ring, regarded itthoughtfully on her spread fingers, and took it off again. 

"In the first place, " Billy said sullenly, "you'll tell him a lotof things that aren't so!"

Silence. Outside the motor horn sounded impatiently. Billysuddenly came close to her stepmother, her dark, mobile littleface quite transformed by anger. 

"You can tell him what you please, " she said in a cold fury, "butI'll know WHY you did it--it's because you're jealous, and youwant everyone in the world to be in love with YOU! You hate mebecause my father loves me, and you would do anything in the worldto make trouble between us! I've known it ever since I was alittle girl, even if I never have said it before! I--" She choked, and tears of youthful rage came into her eyes. 

"Don't be preposterous, Bill. You've said it before, every timeyou've been angry, in the last five years, " the older woman saidcoolly. "This only means that you will feel that you have to wakeme up, when you come in to-night, to say that you are sorry. "

"I will not!" said the girl at white heat. 

"Well, I hope you won't, " Rachael Breckenridge said amiably, "forif there is one thing I loathe more than another, it is beingwaked up for theatricals in the middle of the night. Good-bye. Besure to thank Mrs. Bowditch for chaperoning you. "

"Are you going to speak to Clancy?" the girl demanded imperiously. 

"Run along, Billy, " Rachael said, with a faint show of impatience. "Nobody could speak to your father about anything to-night, as youought to know. "

For a moment Billy stood still, breathing hard and with tightlyclosed lips, her angry eyes on her step-mother. Then her breastrose on a childish, dry sob, she dropped her eyes, and moved ashining slipper-toe upon the rug with the immortal motion ofembarrassed youth. 

"You--you used to like Joe, Rachael, " she said, after a moment, ina low tone. 

"I don't dislike him now, " Rachael said composedly. 

"He's awfully kind--and--and good, and Lucy never understood him, or tried to understand him!" said Billy in a burst. The otherwoman smiled. 

"If Joe Pickering told you any sentimental nonsense like that, kindly don't retail it to me, " she said amusedly. 

In a second Billy was roused to utter fury. Her cheeks blazed, herbreath came short and deep. "I hate you!" she said passionately, and ran from the room. 

Mrs. Breckenridge sat still for a few moments, but there was noemotion but utter weariness visible in her face. After a while shesaid, "Oh, Lord!" in a tone compounded of amusement and disgust, and rising, she took a new book from the table, and went slowlydownstairs. 

In the lower hall Alfred met her, his fat young face dulymysterious and important in expression. 

"Mr. Breckenridge got a telephone message from Doctor Jordan, Mrs. Breckenridge; the doctor's been called into town to a patient, sohe can't see Mr. Breckenridge to-night. "

"Oh! Well, he'll probably be here in the morning, " Rachael saidcarelessly. 

"Excuse me, Mrs. Breckenridge, but Mr. Breckenridge seemed to be agood deal worried about himself, and he had me call DoctorGregory, " the man pursued respectfully. 

"Doctor GREGORY!" echoed his mistress, with a laugh like a wail. "Alfred, what were you THINKING of! Why didn't you call me?"

"He wouldn't have me call you, " Alfred said unhappily. "He spoketo the doctor himself. We got the housekeeper first, and she saidDoctor Gregory was dressing. 'Tell him it's a matter of life anddeath, ' says Mr. Breckenridge. Then we got him. 'I'm dining out, 'he says, 'but I'll be there this evening. '"

"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" Mrs. Breckenridge said half to herself inserio-comic desperation. "Gregory--called in for a--for a--forthis! If I could get hold of him! He didn't say where he wasdining?"

"No, Mrs. Breckenridge, " the man answered, with a great air ofefficiency. 

"Well, Alfred, I wish sometimes you knew a little more--or alittle less!" Rachael said dispassionately. "Light a fire in thelibrary, will you? I'll have my dinner there. Tell Ellie to sendme up something broiled--nothing messy--and some strong coffee. "

CHAPTER II

The coffee was strong. Mrs. Breckenridge found it soothing torasped nerves and tired body, and after the dinner things had beencleared away she sat on beside the library fire, under the softarc of light from the library lamp, sipping the stimulating fluid, and staring at the snapping and flashing logs. 

A sense of merely physical well-being crept through her body, andfor a little time even her active brain was quieter; she forgotthe man now heavily sleeping upstairs, the pretty little tyrantwho had rushed off to dinner at the Chases', and the manyperplexing elements in her own immediate problem. She saw only thequiet changes in the fire as yellow flame turned to blue--sank, rose, and sank again. 

The house was still. Kitchenward, to be sure, there was a greatdeal of cheerful laughter and chatter, as Ellie, sitting heavilyensconced in the largest rocker, embroidered a centrepiece for hersister's birthday, Annie read fortunes in the teacups, Alfredimitated the supercilious manner of a lady who had called thatafternoon upon Mrs. Breckenridge, and Helda, a milk-blond Danewith pink-rimmed eyes, laughed with infantile indiscrimination ateverything, blushing an agonized scarlet whenever Alfred'sadmiring eye met her own. 

But the kitchen was not within hearing distance of the quiet roomwhere Rachael sat alone, and as the soft spring night wore on nosound came to disturb her revery. It was not the first solitaryevening she had had of late, for Clarence had been more thanusually reckless, and was developing in his wife, although she didnot realize it herself, a habit of introspection quite foreign toher real nature. 

She had never been a thoughtful woman, her days for many years hadrun brilliantly on the surface of life, she knew not whence thecurrent was flowing, nor why, nor where it led her; she did notnaturally analyze, nor dispute events. Only a few years ago shewould have said that to an extraordinary degree fortune had beenkind to her. She had been born with an adventurous spirit, she hadplayed her game well and boldly, and, according to all thestandards of her type, she had won. But sitting before this quietfire, perhaps it occurred to her to wonder how it happened thatthere were no more hazards, no more cards left to play. She wascaught in a net of circumstances too tight for her unravelling. Truly it might be cut, but when she stood in the loose wreckage ofit--how should she use her freedom? If it was a cage, at least itwas a comfortable cage; at least it was better than the howlingdarkness of the unfamiliar desert beyond. 

And yet she raged, and her hurt spirit flung itself again andagain at the bars. Young and beautiful and clever, how had lifetricked her into this deadlock, where had been the fault, andwhose?

For some undefined reason Rachael rarely thought of the past. Shedid not care to bring its certainties, its panorama of blindedeyes and closed doors before her mental vision. But to-night shefound herself walking again in those old avenues; her thoughtswent back to the memories of her girlhood. 

Girlhood? Her eyes smiled, but with the smile a little twinge ofbitterness drew down her mouth. What a discontented, eager, restless girlhood it had been, after all. A girlhood eternallyanalyzing, comparing, resenting, envying. How she had secretlydespised the other girls, typical of their class, the laughing, flirting, dress-possessed girls of a small California town. Howshe had despised her aunts, all comfortably married andprosperous, her aunts' husbands, her stodgy, noisy cousins! And, for that matter, there had never been much reverence in her regardfor her mother, although Rachael loved that complaining littlewoman in her cool way. 

But for her father, the tall, clever, unhappy girl had a genuineadmiration. She did not love him, no one who knew Gerald Fairfaxwell could possibly have sustained a deep affection for him, butshe believed him to be almost as remarkably educated and naturallygifted as he believed himself to be. Her uncles were simplycountry merchants, her mother's fat, cheerful father dealt infurniture, and, incidentally, coffins, but her father was anEnglishman, and naturally held himself above the ordinary folk ofLos Lobos. 

Nobody knew much about him, when he first made his appearance inLos Lobos, this silky-haired, round-faced, supercilious stranger, in his smart, shabby Norfolk coat, which was perhaps one reasonwhy every girl in the village was at once willing to marry him, noquestions asked. His speech was almost a different tongue fromtheirs; he was thirty-five, he had dogs and a man-servant, insteadof the usual equipment of mother, sisters, and "hired girl, " andhe seemed eternally bored and ungracious. This was enough for theLos Lobos girls, and for most of their mothers, too. 

The newcomer bought a small ranch, three miles out of town, andlounged about it in a highly edifying condition of elegantidleness. He rode a good horse, drank a great deal, and strode outof the post-office once a week scattering monogrammed envelopescarelessly behind him. He had not been long in town before peoplebegan to say that his elder brother was a lord; a duke, Mrs. ChessBaxter, the postmistress said, because to her question regardingthe rumor he had answered carelessly: "Something of that sort. "

Thirty years ago there were a great many detached Englishmen inCalifornia, fourth and fifth sons, remittance men, familyscapegraces who had been banished to the farthest frontier byrelatives who regarded California as beyond the reach of gossip, and almost beyond the reach of letters. Checks, small but regular, arrived quarterly for these gentry, who had only to drink, sleep, play cards, and demoralize the girls of the country. Here andthere among them, to be sure, were pink-skinned boys as fresh andsweet as the apple-blossoms under which they rode their horses, but for the most part the emigrants were dissipated, disenchanted, clinging loyally to the traditions of the older country that haddiscarded them, and scorning the fragrant and inexhaustiblerichness of the new land that had made them welcome. They were, asa class, silent, only voluble on the subject of the despisedcountry of their adoption, and absolutely non-committal as totheir own histories. But far from questioning their credentials, the women and girls everywhere accepted them eagerly, caughtsomething of an English accent and something of an Englisharrogance. 

So Clara Mumford, a rose of a girl, cream-skinned, blue-eyed, andinnocent with the terrible innocence of the village girlhood thatfeels itself so wise--Clara, who knew, because her two oldersisters were married, where babies come from, and knew, because ofAlta Porter's experience, that girls--nice girls, who went withone through the high school--can yield to temptation and beruined--Clara only felt, in shyly announcing her engagement toGerald Fairfax, that Fate had been too kind. 

That this glittering stranger twice her age--why, he was even alittle bald--a man who had travelled, who knew people of title, knew books, and manners, and languages--that he should marry anundertaker's daughter in Los Lobos! It was unbelievable. Clara'sonly misgiving during her short engagement was that he woulddisappear like a dream. She agreed with everything he said; evencarrying her new allegiance to the point of laughing a little ather own people: the layer cakes her mother made for the Sundaynoonday dinner; the red-handed, freckled swain who called on heryounger sister in the crisp, moonlighted winter evenings; and thefact that her father shaved in the kitchen. 

A few weeks slipped by, and Clara duly confided her youth and herinnocence and her roses to her English husband, a little ashamedof the wedding presents her friends sent her, even a littledoubtful of her parents' handsome gift of a bird's-eye maplebedroom set and a parlor set in upholstered cherry. 

On her side she accepted everything unquestionably: the shabbylittle ranch house that smelled of wood smoke, and tobacco smoke, and dogs; the easy scorn of her old friends on her husband's partthat so soon alienated her from them; the drink that she quicklylearned to regard with uneasiness and distrust. It was not thatJerry ever got really intoxicated, but he got ugly, excitable, irritable, even though quite in control of his actions and hissenses. 

Clara was a good cook, although not as expert as her fond mother'slittle substitutions and innocent manipulations during theirengagement had led Gerald to believe. But she loved to please him, and when flushed and triumphant she put down some especiallytempting dish before him, and felt his arm about her, tears ofactual joy would stand in her bright eyes. They had some happydays, some happy hours, in the first newness of being together. 

Gerald's man, Thomas, was an early cause of annoyance to Clara. She would not have objected to cooking for a farm "hand"; that wasa matter of course with all good farmers' wives. But Thomas wasmore British, in all that makes the British objectionable, thanhis master, and Thomas was quite decidedly addicted to drink. Henever thought of wiping a dish, or bringing Clara in a bucket ofwater from the well. He ate what she set out upon the kitchentable for him, three times a day, chatting pleasantly enough ofthe farm, the horses, chickens, and vegetable garden, if Clara wasin an amiable mood, but if, busy at the sink, or clearing thedining-room table, she was inwardly fuming with resentment at hisvery existence, Thomas could be silent, too, and would presentlysaunter away, stuffing his pipe, without even the common courtesyof piling his dishes together for her washing. Thomas held longconversations with his master as they idled about the place; Clarawould hear their laughter. The manservant slept in a small sheddetached from the main house, and there were times when he did notappear in the morning. At such times Gerald with a pot of strongcoffee likewise disappeared into the cabin. 

"Pore old rotter!" the husband would say generously. "He's adecentish sort, don't you know? I meanter say, poor old Thomas didme an awfully good turn once--and that!"

Clara inferred from various hints that Gerald had once been in theEnglish army, and had met Thomas, and befriended him, or beenbefriended by him, at that period of his existence. But, greatlyto the little bride's disappointment, Gerald never spoke of hisold home or his connections there. Clara had to draw what comfortshe could from his intimation that all his relatives wereunbelievably eminent and distinguished, the least of them superiorin brain and achievement to any American who ever drew the breathof life. 

And presently she forgot Thomas, forgot the petty annoyance ofcooking and summer heat and dogs and physical discomfort, in theoverwhelming prayer that the coming child, about whose adventGerald, at first annoyed, had later been so generously good-natured, might prove a boy. Gerald, living uncomplainingly in thisdreadful little country town, enduring Western conditions withsuch dignity, and loving his little wife despite her undertakerfather, would be seriously disgusted, she knew, if she gave him adaughter. 

"A--a girl?" Clara stammered, her wet eyes on the doctor's face, her panting little figure lost in the big outline of her mother'sspare-room bed. She managed a brave smile, but there was a bitterlump in her throat. 

A girl!

And she had been so brave, so sweet with Jerry, who had notenjoyed the three or four days of waiting at her mother's house;so strong in her agonies, as became the healthy, normal littlecountry girl she was! Fate owed her a son, she had done her share, she had not flinched. And now--a girl! Fresh tears ofdisappointment came to take the place of tears of pain in hereyes. She remembered that Jerry had said, a few days before, "It'll be a boy, of course--all the old women about seem to havesettled that--and I believe I'll cable Cousin Harold. "

"Ma says it'll be a boy, " Clara had submitted hopefully, longingto hear more of "Cousin Harold, " to whom Gerald alluded at longintervals. 

"Of course it will--good old girl!" Jerry had agreed. And that wasonly Thursday night, and this was in the late dawn of cold, wintrySaturday morning. 

Her mother bent over her and kissed her wet forehead. Mrs. Mumford's big kind face was radiant; she had already four smallgrandsons; this was the first grand-daughter. More than that, thenurse was not here yet; she had been supreme through the ordeal;she had managed one more birth extremely well, and she rejoiced inthe making of a nation. 

"Such a nice baby, darling!" she whispered, "with her dear littlehead all covered with black hair! Neta's dressing her. "

"Where's Gerald?" the young mother asked weakly. 

"Right here! I'll let him in for a moment!" There was asatisfaction in Mrs. Mumford's voice; everything was proceedingabsolutely by schedule. "And just as anxious to see you as you areto see him!" she added happily. These occasions were always thesame, and always far more enjoyable to this practised parent thanany pageant, any opera, any social distinction could have been. Tocomfortably, soothingly lead the trembling novice through the longexperience, to whisk about the house capably and briskly busy withthe familiar paraphernalia, to cry in sympathy with another'stears, to stand white-lipped, impotent, anguished through a fewdreadful moments, and then to laugh, and rejoice, and reassure, before the happy hours of resting, and feeding, and cuddlingbegan--this was the greatest satisfaction in her life. 

Clara, afraid in this first moment to face his disappointment, felt in another the most delicious reassurance and comfort she hadknown in months. Jerry, taking the chair by the bedside, was sodear about it! The long night had much impressed the new-madefather. They had had coffee at about two o'clock--Clara rememberedwondering how they could sit enjoying it, instead of dashing thehideous cups to the floor, and rushing out of the horribleenclosure of walls and curtains--and as he bent over her she knewhe had had something stronger since--but he was so dear!

"Well, we've had a night of it, eh?" he said kindly. "Funny howmuch one takes the little beggars for grawnted until it's one'sown that kicks up the row? You've not seen her--she's a nicelittle beggar. You might get some sleep, I should think. I'm goingto hang around until some sort of a family jamboree is over, atone o'clock--your mother insists that we have dinner--and thenI'll go out to the rawnch. But I'll be in in the morning!"

"Girl!" said Clara, apologetically, whimsically, deprecatingly, her weak fingers clinging tightly to his. 

"Ah, well, one carn't help that!" he answered philosophically. "We'll have a row of jolly little chaps yet!"

But there was never another child. Clara, having cast her fortunesin with her lord, was faithful to him through every breath shedrew. But before Rachael's first crying, feverish little summerwas over there had been some definite changes at the ranch. Thomaswas gone, and Clara, pale and exhausted with the heat, engagedElla, a young woman servant of her mother's selecting, to bake andwash and carry in stove-wood. Clara managed them all, Gerald, thebaby, and the maid. Perhaps at first she was just a littleastonished to find her husband as easily managed as Ella and farmore easily managed than Rachael. Gerald Fairfax was surprised, too, lazily conceding his altered little wife her new andenergetic way with a mental reservation that when she was strongand well again and the child less a care, things would be as theywere. But Clara, once in power, never weakened for a moment again. Rachael grew up, a solitary and unfriendly, yet a tactful anddiplomatic, little person on the ranch. She early developed agreat admiration for her father, and a consequent regard forherself as superior to her associates. She ruled her motherabsolutely from her fourth year, and remained her grandmother'sgreat favorite among a constantly increasing flock ofgrandchildren. Some innate pride and scorn and dignity in thechild won her her own way through school and school days; heryoung cousins were bewildered themselves by the respect and fealtythey yielded her despite the contempt in which they held heraffectations. 

Clara had never been a religious woman and, married to an utterunbeliever, she had little enough to give a child of her own. ButClara's mother was a church woman, and her father a deeplyreligious man. It was his mother, "old lady Mumford"--Rachael'sgreat-grandmother--who taught the child her catechism whenever shecould get hold of that restless and lawless little girl. 

Rachael had great fear and respect for her great-grandmother, andeverything that was fine and good in the child instinctivelyresponded to the atmosphere of her little home. It was anunpretentious home, even for Los Lobos: only a whitewashedCalifornia cabin with a dooryard full of wall flowers andgeraniums, and pungent marigolds, and marguerites that werebudding, blossoming, and gone to rusty decay on one and the samebush. The narrow paths were outlined with white stone ale-bottles, turned upside down and driven into the soft ground, and under therustling tent of a lilac bush there were three or four clay potsfilled with dry earth. There was a railed porch on the east sideof the house, with vines climbing on strings about it, and herethe old woman, clean with the wonderful, cool-fingered cleannessof frail yet energetic seventy-five, would sit reading in theafternoon shade that fell from the great shoulders of the bluemountains. 

Inside were three rooms; there was no bathroom, no light but thekerosene lamps the old hands tended daily, no warmth but the smallkitchen stove. All the furniture was old and shabby and cheap, andthe antimacassars and pictures and teacups old Mrs. Mumford prizedso dearly were of no value except for association's sake. Rachael's great-grandmother lived upon tea and toast and fruitsauce; sometimes she picked a dish of peas in her own garden andsometimes made herself a rice pudding, but if her children broughther in a chicken or a bowl of soup she always gave it away to somepoorer neighbor who was ill, or who was "nursing that greatstrapping baby. "

She read the Bible to Rachael and exhorted the half-believing, half-ashamed child to lay its lessons to heart. 

"Your life will be full of change and of pleasure, there will bemany temptations and much responsibility, " said the sweet, stern, thin old voice. "Arm yourself against the wickedness of theworld!"

Rachael, pulling the old collie's silky ears, thought nothing ofthe wickedness of the world but much of possible change andpleasure. She hoped her aged relative was right; certainly onewould suppose Granny to be right in anything she said. 

The time would have swiftly come when the child's changing heartwould have found no room for this association, but before Rachaelwas twelve Granny was gone, the little house, with its few poortreasures shut inside it, was closed and empty. And only a year ortwo later a far more important change came into the girl's life. She had always disliked Los Lobos, had schemed and brooded andfretted incessantly through her childhood. It was with astonisheddelight that she heard that her parents, who had never, in afinancial sense, drawn a free breath since their marriage, who hadworried and contrived, who had tried indifference and bravado andstrictest economy by turns, had sold their ranch for almost twothousand dollars more than its accumulated mortgages, and weregoing to England. 

It was a glorious adventure for Rachael, even though she was tooshrewd not to suspect the extreme hazard of the move. She talkedin Los Lobos of her father's "people, " hinted that "the family, you know, thinks we'd better be there, " but she knew in her heartthat a few months might find them all beggars. 

Her father bought her a loose, big, soft blue coat in SanFrancisco, and a dashing little soft hat for the steamer. Rachaelnever forgot these garments throughout her entire life. Itmattered not how countrified the gown under the coat, how plainthe shoes on her slender feet. Their beauty, their becomingness, their comfort, actually colored her days. For twenty dollars shewas transformed; she knew herself to be pretty and picturesque. "That charming little girl with the dark braids, going toEngland, " she heard some man on the steamer say. The ranch, thechickens, weeds, and preserving, the dusty roads and shabby storesof Los Lobos were gone; she was no longer a gawky child; she was ayoung lady in a loose, soft, rough blue coat, with a black quillin her soft blue hat. 

England received her wandering son coolly, but Rachael never knewit. Her radiant dream--or was it an awakening?--went on. Hermother, a neat, faded, querulous little woman, whose one greatservice was in sparing her husband any of the jars of life, waskeyed to frantic anxiety lest Jerry be unappreciated, now that hehad come back. Clara met the few men to whom her husbandintroduced her in London with feverish eagerness; afraid--afterfifteen years--to say one word that might suggest her own concernin Jerry's future, quivering to cross-examine him, when they werealone, as to what had been said, and implied, and suggested. 

Nothing definite followed. They lived for a month or two at adelightful roomy boarding-house in London, where the modest mealsClara ordered appeared as if by magic, and where Miss Fairfaxnever sullied her pretty hands with dishwashing. Then they went tovisit "Aunt Elsie" in a suburban villa for several weeks, a visitRachael never thought of afterward without a memory of stuffy, neat, warm rooms, and a gushing of canaries' voices. Then theywent down to Sussex, in the delicious fullness of spring, to livewith several other persons in a dark country house, where "CousinHarold" died, and there was much odorous crepe and a funeral. Cousin Harold evidently left something to Gerald. Rachael knewmoney was not an immediate problem. Hot weather came, and theywent to the seaside with an efficient relative called Ethel, andEthel's five children. Later, back in London, Gerald said, in hisdaughter's hearing, that he had made "rather a good thing of thatlittle game of Bobbie's. Enough to tide us over--what? Especiallyif the Dickies ask us down for a bit, " he had added. The Dickiesdid ask them down for a bit. They went other places. Gerald made alittle money on the races, made "a good thing" of this, and"turned a bit over on that. " Weeks made months and months years, and still they drifted cheerfully about, Gerald happier than hehad ever been in exile, Clara fearful, admiring, ill at ease, Rachael in a girl's paradise. 

She grew beautiful, with a fine and distinguished beauty definitein its appeal; before she was seven-teen she had her littlereputation for it; she moved easily into a circle higher than evenher father had ever known. She was witty, young, lovely, and inthis happier atmosphere her natural gayety and generosity mightwell develop. She went about continually, and every year thecircle of her friends was widened by more distinguished names. 

At seventeen Mrs. Gouveneur Pomeroy of New York brought the youngbeauty back with her own daughter, Persis, for a winter in thegreat American city, and when Persis died Rachael indeed becamealmost as dear to the stricken parents. When she went back toLondon they gave her not only gifts but money, and for two yearsshe returned to them for long visits. So America had a chance toadmire the ravishing Miss Fairfax, too, and Rachael had manyconquests and one or two serious affairs. The girls had theirfirst dances at the Belvedere Club; Rachael met them all, who werelater to be her neighbors: the Morans and Parmalees, theVanderwalls and the Torrences, and the Chases. She met ClarenceBreckenridge and his wife, and the exquisitely dressed little girlwho was Billy to-day. 

And through all her adventures she looked calmly, confidently, andwith conscious enjoyment for a husband. She flirted a little, anddanced and swam and drove and played golf and tennis a great deal, but she never lost sight for an instant of the serious business oflife. Money she must have--it was almost as essential to her asair--and money she could only secure through a marriage. 

The young Englishman who was her first choice, in her twentiethyear, had every qualification in the world. When he died, two orthree months before the wedding-day, Rachael's mother was fond ofsaying in an aside to close friends that the girl's heart wasbroken. Rachael, lovely in her black, went down to stay withStephen's mother, and for several weeks was that elderly lady'sgreatest comfort in life. Silent and serious, her manner theperfection of quiet grief, only Rachael herself knew how littlethe memory of Stephen interfered with her long reveries as shetook his collies about in the soft autumn fogs. Only Rachael knewhow the sight of Trecastle Hall, the horses, the servants, and thepark filled her heart with despair. She might have been LadyTrecastle! All this might so easily have been her own!

She had loved Stephen, of course, she told herself; loving, withRachael, simply meant a willingness to accept and to give. Butlove was of course a luxury; she was after the necessities oflife. Well, she had played and lost, but she could play again. Soshe went to the Pomeroys' for the winter, and in the spring wasbrought back to London by her father's sudden death. 

Gerald Fairfax's life insurance gave his widow a far more securedincome than he had ever given his wife. It was microscopic, to besure, but Clara Fairfax was a practised economist. The ladiessettled in Paris, and Rachael was seriously considering a Frenchmarriage when, by the merest chance, in the street one day, asmall homesick girl clutched at her thin black skirt, and sent heran imploring smile. Rachael, looking graciously down from underthe shade of her frilly black parasol, recognized the littleBreckenridge girl, obviously afflicted with a cold andlonesomeness and strangeness. Enslaving the French nurse withthree perfectly pronounced sentences, Rachael went home with theclinging Carol, put her to bed, cheered her empty little interiorwith soup, soothed her off to sleep, and was ready to meet hercrazed and terrified father with a long lecture on the care ofyoung children, when, after an unavoidable afternoon of business, he came back to his hotel. 

The rest followed. Rachael liked Clarence, finding it agreeablethat he knew how to dress, how to order a dinner, tip servants, and take care of a woman in a crowd. His family was one of theoldest in America, and he was rich. She was sorry that Billy'smother was living, but then one couldn't have everything, and, after all, she was married again, which seemed to mitigate theannoyance. Rachael said to herself that this was a wiser marriagethan the proposed one with poor Stephen: Stephen had been a wild, romantic boy, full of fresh passion and dazed with exultantdreams; Clarence was a man, longing less for moonshine and rosesand the presence of his beloved one than for a gracious, distinguished woman who would take her place before the world asmistress of his home and guardian of his child. 

She had sometimes doubted her power to make Stephen happy--Stephen, who talked with all a boy's heavenly shyness of long daystramping the woods and long nights over the fire, of little sonsand daughters romping in the Trecastle gardens; but she enteredinto her marriage with Clarence Breckenridge with entire self-confidence. She had been struggling more or less definitely allher life toward just such a position as this; it was acomparatively easy matter to fill it, now that she had got it. 

Carol she considered a decided asset. The child adored her, andher services to Carol were so much good added to the beauty, charm, and wisdom that she brought into the bargain. That Clarencecould ask more in the way of beauty, wisdom, and charm was notconceivable; Rachael knew her own value too well to have anydoubts on that score. 

And had her husband been a strong man, her dignified and ripenedloveliness must inevitably have won him. She stood ready to bewon. She held to her bond in all generosity. What heart and souland body could do for him was his to claim. She did not love him, but she did not need love's glamour to show her what her exactvalue to him might be; what was her natural return for all hermarriage gave her. 

But quick-witted and cold-blooded as she was, she could not seethat Clarence was actually a little afraid of her. He had been toorich all his life to count his money as an argument in his favor, and although he was not clever he knew Rachael did not love him, and hardly supposed that she ever could. 

He felt with paternal blindness that she had married him partlyfor the child's sake, and returned to the companionship of hisdaughter with a real sense of relief. 

Rachael, in turn, was puzzled. Carol was undeniably a prettychild, with all a spoiled child's confident charm, but in allgood-natured generosity Rachael could not see in her the subtleand irresistible fascinations that her father so eagerlyexploited. Surely no girl of ten, however gifted, could bereasonably supposed to eclipse completely the woman Rachael knewherself to be; surely no parental infatuation could extend itselfto the point of a remarriage with the bettering of a small child'sposition alone the object. 

Philosophy came promptly to the aid of the new-made wife. Billywas a child, and Clarence a greater child. The situation wasannoying, was belittling to her own pride, but she would meet itwith dignity nevertheless. After all, the visible benefits of themarriage were still hers: the new car, the new furs, the new andwonderful sense of financial ease, of social certainty. 

She schooled herself to listen with an indulgent smile to herhusband's fond rhapsodies about his daughter. She agreed amiablythat Billy would be a great beauty, a heart-breaker, that "thelittle monkey had all the other women crazy with jealousy now, byJove!" She selected the little gowns and hats in which the radiantBilly went off for long days alone with "Daddy, " and she presentlygraciously consented to share the little girl's luxurious roombecause Billy sometimes awakened nervously at night. Rachael hadbeen accustomed to difficulties in dealing with the personsnearest her; she met them resolutely. Sometimes a baffling senseof failure smote the surface of her life, like a cold wind thatturns to white metal the smooth waters of a lake, but she held herhead proudly above it, and even Clarence and his daughter neverguessed what she endured. What did it matter? Rachael askedherself wearily. She had not asked for love. She had resolutelyexchanged what she had to give for what she had determined to get;Clarence had made no blind protestations, had expected no goldenromance. He admired her; she knew he thought it was splendid ofher to manage the engagement and marriage with so little fuss;perhaps his jaded pulses fluttered a little when Rachael, exquisite in her bridal newness, stooped at the railway station togive the drooping Billy a good-bye kiss, and promise that in threedays they would be back to rescue her from the hated governess;but paramount above all other emotions, she suspected, was thetremendous satisfaction of having gained just the right woman tostraighten out his tangled domestic affairs, just the mother, asthe years went by, to do the correct thing for Billy. 

Of some of these things the woman who sat idly before the libraryfire was thinking, as the quiet evening wore on, and the purringof the flames and the ticking of the little mantel clock accentedrather than disturbed the stillness. She was unhappy with a cold, dry wretchedness that was deeper than any pang of passion or ofhate. The people she met, the books she read, the gowns sheplanned so carefully, and the social events that were her life, all--all--were dust and ashes. Clarence was less a disappointmentand a shame to her than an annoyance; he neglected her, hehumiliated her, true, but this meant infinitely less than that hebored her so mercilessly. Billy, with her youthful complacenciesand arts, bored her; the sympathy of a few close friends bored heras much as the admiration and envy of the many who were not close. Cards, golf, dinners, and dances bored her. Rachael thoughttonight of a woman she had known closely, a beautiful woman, too, and a rich and gifted woman, who, not many months ago, had quietlyended it all, had been found by horrified maids in her gray-and-silver boudoir lovelier than ever, in fixed and peaceful beauty, with the soft folds of her lacy gown spreading like the petals ofa great flower about her and the little gleam of an empty bottlein her still, ringed hand. .. 

A voice broke the library stillness. Rachael roused herself. 

"What is it, Helda?" she asked. "Doctor Gregory? Ask him to comein. And ask Alfred--is Alfred still downstairs?--ask him to go upand see if Mr. Breckenridge is awake. 

"This is very decent of you, Greg, " she said, a moment later, asthe doctor came into the room. "It doesn't seem right to interferewith your dinner for the same old stupid thing!"

"Great pleasure to do anything for you, Rachael, " the newcomersaid promptly and smilingly with the almost perfunctory courtesythat was a part of Warren Gregory's stock in trade. "You don'tcall on me often! I wish you did!"

She said to herself, as they both sat down before the fire, thatit was probably true. Doctor Gregory was notoriously glad of anopportunity to serve his friends. He had not at all regretted thenecessity of leaving his dinner partner at the salad for aprofessional call. He was quite ready to enjoy the Breckenridgesitting-room, the fire, the lamplight, the company of a beautifulwoman. Rachael and he knew each other well, almost intimately;they had been friends for many years. She had often been his guestat the opera, had often chaperoned his dinner-parties at the club, for Warren Gregory's only woman relative was his old mother, whowas neither of an age nor a type to take any part in his sociallife. 

He was forty, handsome, dignified, with touches of gray in hisclose-clipped hair, but no other sign of years in his face or hisbig, well-built figure. He had clever, fine eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, a surgeon's clever hands, a pleasant voice. Helived with his mother in a fine old house on Washington Square, inNew York City, and worked as tirelessly as if he were a pennilessbe ginner at his profession instead of a rich man, a rich woman'sheir, and already recognized as a genius in his own line. 

All women liked him, and he liked them all. He sent them books, marked essays in magazines for their individual consideration, took them to concerts, remembered their birthdays. But his onlyclose friends were men, the men with whom he played tennis andgolf, or with whom he was associated in his work. 

With all his cleverness and all his charm, Warren Gregory was nota romantic figure in the eyes of most women. He had inherited fromhis old Irish mother a certain mildness, and a lenience, wherethey were concerned. He neither judged them nor idolized them. They belonged only to his leisure hours. His real life was in hisclub, in his books, and in the hospital world where there werechildren's tiny bones to set. He was conscious, as a man born in adifferent circle always is conscious, that he had, by a series ofpleasant chances, been pushed straight into the inner heart of thesocial group whose doors are so resolutely closed to many men andwomen, and he liked it. His grand father had had blood but nomoney, his mother money but no social claim. He inherited, withthe O'Connell millions, the Gregory name, and for perhaps tenyears he had enjoyed an unchallenged popularity. He had inheritedalso, without knowing it, a definitely different standard fromthat held by all the men and women about him. In his simple, unobtrusive way he held aloof from much that they said and did. Greg, said the woman, was a regular Puritan about gossip, aboutdrinking, about gambling. 

They never suspected the truth: that he was shy. Sure of his touchas a surgeon, pleasantly definite about books and pictures, spontaneous and daring in the tennis court or on the links, underhis friendly manner with women was the embarrassment of a youngboy. 

Before his tenth year his rigidly conscientious mother hadinstilled into the wondering little-boy mind certain mysteriousyet positive moral laws. Purity and self-control were in the airhe breathed while at her side, and although a few years laterschool and college had claimed him, the effect of those earlylessons was definite upon his character. Diffidence and a sort offear had protected him, far more effectually than any other meansmight have done, from the common vices of his age, and in thosedays a certain good-natured scorn from all his associates made himfeel even more than his natural shyness, and marked him ratherapart from other young men. 

Keenly aware of this, it had been a tremendous surprise to theyoung physician, returning from post-graduate work in Germany afew years later, to find that what had once been considered a sortof laughable weakness in him was called strength of character now;that what had been a clumsy boy's inarticulateness was morecharitably construed into the silence of a clever man who will notwaste his words; and that mothers whose sons he had once enviedfor their worldly wisdom were turning to him for advice as to theextrication of these same sons from all sorts of difficulties. 

Being no fool, he accepted the changed attitude with greatreadiness, devoting himself to his work and his mother, andpleasantly conscious that he was a success. He let women alone, except where music and art, golf and the club theatricals were thetopic of interest, and, consequently, had come to his fortiethyear with some little awe and diffidence still left for them inhis secret heart. Rachael had told him, not long ago, that shebelieved he took no interest in women older than fourteen andyounger than fifty, and there was some truth in the charge. But hewas conscious to-night of taking a distinct interest in her as hesat down beside her fire. 

He had never seen her so beautiful, he thought. She had dressed sohastily, so carelessly, that an utter simplicity enhanced thenatural charm. Her dark hair was simply massed, her gown wasdevoid of ornament, her hands bare, except for her wedding-ring. On her earnest, exquisite face the occasion had stamped a certainsoberness, she was neither hostess nor guest to-night; just aheartsick wife under the shadow of anger and shame. 

"Well, what is it to-night?" Warren Gregory asked kindly. 

"Oh, the same old thing, Greg. The Berry Stokes' dinner, youknow!"

"Shame!" the doctor said warmly, touched by her obviousdepression. "I'll go up. I can give him some pills. But you know, he can't keep this up forever, Rachael. He's killing himself!"

In her sensitive mood the mildly reproachful tone was too much. Rachael's breast rose, her eyes brightened angrily. 

"Perhaps you'll tell me what more I can do, Greg!"

He looked at her in surprise; the shell of Mrs. Breckenridge'scool reserve was not often pierced. 

"My dear girl--" he stammered. "Why, Rachael--!"

For battling with a moment of emotion she had flung her beautifulhead back against the brilliant cretonne of the chair, her eyesclosed, her hands grasping the chair-arms. A tear slipped fromunder her lids. 

"I didn't for one second mean--" he began again uncomfortably. 

Suddenly she straightened herself in her chair, and opened hereyes widely. He saw her lovely breast, under its filmy blackchiffon, rise stormily. Her voice was rich with protest. 

"No, you didn't mean anything, Greg, nobody means anything! Nobodyis anything but sorry for me: you, Billy, Elinor, the woman whoexpected us at dinner to-night, the servants at the club!" shesaid hotly. "Nobody blames me, and yet every one wonders how ithappens! Nobody thinks it anything but a little amusing, a littleshocking. I am to write the notes, and make the excuses, and beshamed--and shamed--shamed--"

Her voice broke. She rose to her feet, and rested an elbow on themantel, and stared moodily at the fire. There was a silence. 

"Rachael, I'm sorry!" Gregory said presently, impulsively. 

Instantly her April smile rewarded him. 

"I know you are, Greg!" she answered gratefully. "And I know, " sheadded, in a low tone, "that you are one of the persons who willunderstand--when I end it all!"

"End it all!" he echoed sharply. 

"Not suicide, " she reassured him smilingly. She flung herself backin her chair again, holding her white hand, with its ring, betweenher face and the fire. "No, " she said thoughtfully, "I meandivorce. "

There eyes met; both were pale, serious. 

"Divorce!" he echoed, after a pause. "I never thought of it--foryou!"

"I haven't thought of it myself, much, " Rachael admitted, with atroubled smile. 

As a matter of fact she had thought of it, since the early days ofher marriage, but never as an actual possibility. She hadpreferred bondage and social position to freedom and theuncomfortable status of the divorced woman. She realized now thatshe might think of it in a slightly different way. She had been apenniless nobody seven years ago; she was a personage now. Themere fact that he was a Breckenridge would win some sympathy forClarence, but she would have her faction, too. 

More than that, she would never be younger, never handsomer, neverbetter able to take the plunge, and face the consequences. 

"I'm twenty-eight, Greg, " she said reasonably, "I'm not stupid, I'm not plain--don't interrupt me! Is this to be my fate? I'mcapable of loving--of living--I don't want to be bored--bored--bored for the rest of my life!"

Warren Gregory, stunned and surprised, eyed her sympathetically. 

"Belvedere Bay bore you?" he asked, smiling a little uneasily. 

"No--it's not that. I don't want more dinners and dances andjewels and gowns!" Rachael answered musingly. She stared sombrelyat the fire, and there was a moment's silence. 

Suddenly her mood changed. She smiled, and locking her handstogether, as she leaned far forward in her chair, she lookedstraight into his eyes. 

"Greg, " she said, "do you know what I'd like to be? I'd like to befar away from cities and people, a fisherman's wife on an oceanshore, with a baby coming every year, and just the delicious seato watch! I could be a good wife, Greg, if anybody really--lovedme!"

Laughing as she looked at him, she did not disguise the fact thattears misted her lashes. Warren Gregory felt himself stirred as hehad not been before in his life. 

"Well, " he said, with an unsteady laugh, "you could be anything!With you for his wife, what couldn't a man do!"

Hardly conscious of what he did or said, he got to his feet, andshe stood, too, smiling up at him. Both were breathing hard. 

"To think, " he said, with a sort of repressed violence, "that you, of all women, should be Clarence Breckenridge's wife!"

"Not long!" she answered, in a whisper. 

"You mean that you are really going to leave him, Rachael?"

"I mean that I must, Greg, if I am not to go mad!"

"And where will you go?" she asked. 

"Oh--to Vera, to Elinor. " She paused, frowning. "Or away bymyself, " she decided suddenly. "Away from them all!"

"Rachael, " he said quickly, "will you come to my mother?"

Rachael smiled. "To your mother!"

He read her incredulity in her voice. 

"But she loves you, " he said eagerly. "And she'd be--we'd both beso proud to show people--to prove--that we knew where the rightlay!"

"My dear Don Quixote, " she answered affectionately, "I love youfor asking me! But I will be better alone. I must think, and plan. I've made a mess of my life so far, Greg; I must take the nextstep carefully!"

He was clinging to her hands as she stood, in all her gravebeauty, before him. 

"If I hadn't been such a bat, Rachael, all those eleven yearsago!" he said, daringly, breathlessly. 

"Have we known each other so long, Greg?"

"Ever since that first visit of yours with little Persis Pomeroy!And I remember you so well, Rachael. I remember that BobbyGoverneur was enslaved!"

"Dear old Bobby! But I don't remember you, Greg!"

"Because I was thirty then, my dear, and you were seventeen! I wasjust home from four years' work in Germany; I was afraid of girlsyour age!"

"Afraid--of ME?" The three words were like a caress, like holdingher in his arms. 

"I'm afraid so!" he said, not quite steadily. "I'm afraid I'vealways liked you too well. I--I CARE--that you're unhappy, thatyou're unkindly treated. I--I--wish I could do something, Rachael. "

"You DO do something, " she said, deeply stirred in her turn. "I'm--you don't know how fond I am of you, Greg!"

For answer she felt his arms about her, and for a throbbing minutethey stood so; Rachael braced lightly, her beautiful breast risingand falling, her breath coming quickly. Her magnificent eyes, wide-open, like a frightened child's, were fixed steadily uponhim. He caught the fragrance of her hair, of her fresh skin; hefelt the softness and firmness of her slender arms. 

"Rachael!" he said, in a sharp whisper. "Don't--don't say that--ifyou don't--mean it!"

"Greg!" she answered, in the same tone. "Don't--frighten me!"

Instantly she was free, and he was standing by the fire withfolded arms, looking at her. 

"You have missed love, and I have missed it, " Warren Gregory saidpresently. "We'll be patient, Rachael. I'll wait; we'll both wait--"

"Greg!" she could only answer still in that stricken whisper, still pale. She stood just as he had left her. 

A silence fell between them. The physician took out a cigarettefrom his gold case with trembling ringers. 

"I'm a little giddy, Rachael, " he said after a moment. "I--on myhonor I don't know what's happened to me! You're the mostwonderful woman in the world--I've always thought that--but itnever occurred to me--the possibility--"

He paused, confused, unable to find the right words. 

"You've been facing this all alone, " he continued presently. "PoorRachael! You've been splendid--wonderfully brave! You have mebeside you now; I'll help you if I may. Some day we may find a wayout! Well, " he finished abruptly, "suppose I go up and seeClarence?"

For answer she rose, and without speaking again went ahead of himup the stairway and left him at the door of her husband's room. Hedid not see her again that night. 

Half an hour later he came down, dismissed his car, and walkedhome under the spring stars. In his veins, like a fire, still ranthe excited, glorious consciousness of his madness. In his earsstill echoed the wonderful golden voice; he could hear her verywords, and he took certain phrases from his memory, and gloatedover them as another man might have gloated over strings ofpearls: "I'd like to be far away from cities and people, afisherman's wife on an ocean shore with a baby coming every yearand just the delicious sea to watch!" "Greg--don't frighten me!"

Exquisite, desirable, enchanting--every inch of her--her voice, her eyes, her slender hand with its gold circle. What a woman!What a wife! What radiant youth and beauty and charm--and alltrampled in the mire by Clarence Breckenridge, of all insensatebrutes! How could laughter and courage and beauty survive it?

He was going to the club, a mile away from the Breckenridge house, but long before the visions born that evening were exhausted, hesaw the familiar lights, and the awninged porches, and heard thefaint echoes of the orchestra. They were dancing. 

Warren Gregory turned away again, and plunged into the darkness ofthe roadside afresh. "My dear Don Quixote!" With what a look ofmotherly amusement and tenderness she had said it. What a woman!He had never kissed her. He had never even thought of kissingClarence Breckenridge's wife. 

He thought of his mother, tried to forget her with a philosophicalshrug, and found that the slender, black-clad, quiet-voiced visionwas not to be so easily dismissed. It was said of old MadamGregory that she had never been heard to raise her voice in thecourse of her sixty honored years. Of the four sons she had borne, three were dead, and the husband she had loved so faithfully laybeside them. She was slightly crippled, her outings confined to aslow drive every day. She was solitary in a retinue of servants. But that modulated voice and those cool, temperate eyes were stilla power. His mother's displeasure was a very real thing to WarrenGregory, and the thought of adding another sorrow to the weight onthose thin shoulders was not an easy one for him to entertain. 

It would be a sorrow. Mrs. Gregory was a rigid Catholic, herlife's one prayer nowadays was that her beloved son might becomeone, too. Her marriage at seventeen to a non-Catholic had beenundertaken in the firm conviction that faith like hers must winthe conversion of her beloved James, the best, the most honorableof men. When her oldest son was born, and given his father's name, she saw, in her husband's willingness to further plans for thebaptism, definite cause for hope. Another son was born, there wasanother christening; it was the father's own hand that gave thethird baby lay-baptism only a few moments before the tiny lifeslipped back into the eternity from which it had so lately come. 

A year or two later a fourth son was born. Presently the dignifiedMrs. Gregory was taking a trio of small, sleek-headed boys toSunday-school, watching every phase in the development of theirawakening souls with terror and with hope. What fears she sufferedin spirit during those years no one but herself knew. Outwardly, the hospitable, gracious life of the great house went on; theGregorys were prominent in charities, they opened their mountaincamp for the summer, they travelled abroad, they had an audiencewith the Pope. Time went on, and the twelve-year-old George wastaken from them, breaking the father's heart, said the watchingworld. But there was a strange calm in the mother's eyes as theyrested on the dead child's serene face: Heaven had her freeoffering, now she must have her reward. 

A few months later James Gregory became a convert to her religion. Charles, the second son, had never wavered from his mother'sfaith, and rejoiced with her in this great event. But the first-born, Warren, as all but his mother called him, to avoid confusionwith his father, was a junior in college when these changes tookplace, and when he came home for the long vacation his mother knewwhat her cross must be for the years to come. He listened to herwith the appalling silence of the nineteen-year-old male, hekissed her, he returned gruff, embarrassed answers to hersearching questions of his soul, and he escaped from her withvisibly expanding lungs and averted eyes. She knew that she hadlost him. 

Men called him a good man, and she assented with dry lips andheavy eyelids. Charles died, leaving a young widow and an infantson, the father shortly followed, and Warren came home from hisinterne year, and was a good son to her in her dark hour. Whenthey began to say of him that he would be great, she smiled sadly. "My father was a doctor, " she said once to an old friend, "andJames inherits it!" But at a memory of her own father, erect androsy among his girls and boys in the family pew, she burst intotears. "I would rather have him with his father, with George andCharles, and with my angel Francis, than have him the greatest manthat ever lived!" she said. 

But if she had not made him a good Catholic she had made him agood man, and it was a fair and honorable record that WarrenGregory could offer to the woman he loved. Love--it had come tohim at last. His thoughts went back to Rachael. It seemed to himthat he had always known how deeply, how recklessly he loved her. 

He had a thrilling memory of her as Persis Pomeroy's guest, yearsago, an awkward, delightful seventeen-year-old, with her hair intwo thick braids, looped up at the neck, and tied with a flaringblack bow. He remembered watching her, hearing for the first timethe delicious voice with its English accent: "Well, I should sayit was indeed!"

"Well, I should say it was indeed!" Across more than ten years herecalled the careless, crisp little answer to some comment fromPersis, his first precious memory of Rachael. The girls, heremembered, were supposedly too young for a certain dance that wasimminent, they were opposing their youthful petulance--baffledroses and sunshine--to Mrs. Pomeroy's big, placid negatives. Gregory could still see the matron's comfortably shaking head, seePersis attacking again and again like a frantic butterfly, and see"the little English girl, " perched on the porch rail, looking frommother to daughter smilingly, with her blue, serious eyes. 

Why had he never thought of her again until Clarence Breckenridgebrought her back with him, a bride, six years later? Or, rather, having thought of her, as he undoubtedly had, why had he not foundthe time to cross the water and go to see her? Nothing might havecome of it, true. But she might have yielded to him as readily asto Clarence Breckenridge!

"I love her!" he said to himself, and it seemed wonderful, sad, and sweet, joyous and terrible to admit it. "I love her. But shedoesn't love me or anyone, poor Rachael! She's forgotten mealready!"

CHAPTER III

As a matter of fact, Rachael thought about him very often duringthe course of the next two or three days, and after he had lefther that night she could think of nothing else. To the admirationof men she was cheerfully accustomed; perhaps it would be safe tosay that not in the course of the past ten years had she everfound herself alone in a man's company without evoking a more orless definite declaration of his admiration for her. But to-night's affair was a little distinctive for several reasons. Warren Gregory was a most exceptional man, for one thing; he wasreputedly a coldblooded man, for another; and for a third, he hadbeen extraordinarily in earnest. There had been no hesitation, hehad committed himself wholeheartedly. She was conscious of apleasurable thrill. However gracious, however gallant Warren was, there had been no social pretence in his attitude to-night. 

And for a few moments she let her imagination play pleasantly withthe situation. It was at least a new thought, and life had run ina groove for a long, long time. Granted the preliminaries safelymanaged, it would be a great triumph for the woman whom ClarenceBreckenridge had ignored to come back into this group as WarrenGregory's wife. 

Rachael got into bed, flinging two or three books down beside herpillow and lighting the shaded lamp that stood at the bedside. Shefound herself unable to read. 

"Wouldn't Florence and Gardner buzz!" she thought with a smile. "And if they buzzed at the divorce, what WOULDN'T they say if Ireally did remarry? But the worst of it is"--and Rachael reachingfor The Way of All Flesh sighed wearily--"the worst of it is thatone never DOES carry out plans, or _I_ never do, any more. I usedto feel equal to any situation, now I don't--getting old, perhaps. I wonder"--she stared dreamily at the soft shadows in the bigroom--"I wonder if things are as queer to most people as they areto me? I don't get much joy out of life, as it is, and yet I don'tDARE cut loose and go away. No maid, no club, living at some cheaphotel--no, I couldn't do that! I wish there was someone who couldadvise me--some disinterested person, someone who--well, who lovedme, and who knew that I've always tried to be decent, always triedto play the game. All I want is to be reasonably well treated; tohave a good time and be among pleasant people--"

Her thoughts wandered about among the various friends whosejudgment might serve at this crisis to clear her own thoughts andsimplify the road before her. Strangely enough, Warren Gregory'sown mother was the first of whom she thought; that pure andaustere and uncompromising heart would certainly find the way. Whether Rachael had the courage to follow it was another question. She loved old Mrs. Gregory; they were good friends. But Rachaeldismissed her with a little shudder, as from the spatter of icywater against her bared breast. The bishop? Rachael and Clarenceduly kept a pew in one of the city's fashionable churches; it wasthe Breckenridge family pew, rented by the family for a hundredyears. But they never sat in it, although Rachael felt vaguelysometimes that for reasons undefined they should, and Clarence wasapt in moments of sentiment to reproach his wife with thestatement that his grandmother had been a faithful church woman, and his mother had always attended church on pleasant mornings inwinter. 

But the bishop called on Rachael once a year, and Rachael likedhim, and mingled an air of pretty penitence for past negligenceswith a gracious promise of better conduct in future. His Grace wasa fine, breezy, broadminded man, polished in manner, sympathetic, and tolerant. He had not risen to his present eminence by tooharsh a rebuke of the sinner. 

His handsome young assistant, Father Graves, as he liked to becalled, was far more radical. But a great deal was forgiven thisattractive boyish celibate by the women of the Episcopal parish. They enjoyed his scoldings, gave him their confidences, and askedhis advice, though they never followed it. His slender, black-cladfigure, with the Roman collar, was admired by many bright eyes atreceptions and church bazaars. 

Still, Rachael could not somehow consider herself as seriouslyasking either of these two clergymen for advice. She could see thebishop, fitting finely groomed fingers together, pursing his lipsfor a judicial reply. 

"My dear Mrs. Breckenridge, that Clarence is now passing through amost unfortunate, most lamentable, period in his life is, alas, perfectly true. His mother--a lovely woman--was one of my wife'sdearest friends, one of my own. His first marriage was muchagainst her wishes, poor dear lady, and--as my wife was saying theother day--had she lived to see him happily married again, and hergrandchild in such good hands, it could not but have been a greatjoy to her. Yes. . .. Now, you and I know Clarence--know his goodpoints, and know his faults. That's one of the sad things about uspoor human beings, we get to know each other so well! And isn't itequally true that we're not patient enough with each other?--oh, yes, I know we try. But do we try HARD enough? Isn't theregenerally some fault on both sides, quick words, angry, hastyactions, argument and blame, when we say things we don't mean andthat we are sure to regret, eh? We all get tired of the stupidround of daily duty, and of the people we are nearest to--that's asad thing, too. We'd all like a change, like to see if we couldn'tdo something else better! And so comes the break, and the cloud ona fine old name, and all because we aren't better soldiers--wedon't want to march in line! Bless me, don't I know the feelingmyself? Why, that good little wife of mine could tell you sometales of discouragement and disenchantment that would make youopen your eyes! But she braces me up, she puts heart into me--andthe first thing I know I'm marching again!"

And having comfortably shifted the entire trend of theconversation from his parishioner to himself and found nothinginsurmountable in his own problem, the good bishop would chucklemischievously at finding his eminent self quite human after all, and would suggest their going in to find Mrs. Bishop, and having acup of tea. These women, always restless and dissatisfied, were apart of his work; he prided himself upon the swiftness and tactwith which he disposed of them. 

Rachael's mouth twisted wryly at the thought of him. No, she couldnot bare her soul to the bishop. 

Nor could she approach Father Graves with any real hope of ahelping word. To seek him out in his study--that esthetically bareand yet beautiful room, with its tobacco-brown hangings andmonastic furnishing in black oak--would be to invite mischief. Tosit there, with her eloquent eyes fixed upon his, her hauntingvoice wrapping itself about his senses, would be a genuine crueltytoward a harmless, well-intentioned youth whose heroism inabjuring the world, the flesh, and the devil had not yet beengreat enough to combat his superb and dignified egotism. At best, he would be won by Rachael's revelation of her soul to a long andfrankly indiscreet talk of his own; at worst, he would construeher confidences in an entirely personal sense, and feel that shecame not at all to the priest and all to the man. 

Dismissing him from her councils, Rachael thought of FlorenceHaviland, the good and kind-hearted and capable matron who wasClarence's sister and only near relative. She and Florence hadalways been good friends, had often discussed Clarence of late. What sort of advice would Florence's forty-five years be apt togive to Rachael's twenty-eight? "Don't be so absurd, Rachael, halfthe men in our set drink as much as Clarence does. Don't jump fromthe frying-pan into the fire. Remember Elsie Rowland and MarianCowles when you talk so lightly of divorce!"

That would be Florence's probable attitude. Still, it was abracing attitude, heartily positive, like everything Florence didand said. And Florence was above everything else a church member, a prominent Christian in her self-sacrificing wifehood andmotherhood, her social and charitable and civic work. She might beunflattering, but she would be right. Rachael's last consciousthought, as she went off to sleep, was that she would take theearliest possible moment to extract a verdict from Florence, She went into her husband's room at ten o'clock the next morningto find Billy radiantly presiding over a loaded breakfast tray, and the invalid, pale and pasty, and with no particular interestin food evinced by the twitching muscles of his face, neverthelessneatly brushed and shaved, propped up in pillows, and making avisible effort to appear convalescent. 

"How are you this morning?" Rachael asked perfunctorily, with herquick glance moving from the books on the table to the wood fireburning lazily behind brass firedogs. Everything was in perfectorder, Helda's touch visible everywhere. 

"Fine, " Clarence answered, also perfunctorily. His coffee wasuntouched, and the cigarette in his long holder had gone out, butBilly was disposing of eggs, toast, bacon, and cream with youthfulzest. Clarence's hot, sick gaze rested almost with hostility uponhis wife's cool beauty; in a gray linen gown, with a transparentwhite ruffle turned back from her white throat, she looked asfresh as the fresh spring morning. 

"Headache?" said the nicely modulated, indifferent voice. 

To this solicitude Clarence made no answer. A dark, ugly look cameinto his face, and he turned his eyes sullenly and wearily away. 

"How was the Chase dinner, Bill?" pursued the cheerful visitor, unabashed. 

"Same old thing, " Carol answered briefly. 

"You're not up to the Perrys' lunch to-day, are you, Clancy?"

"Oh, my God, no!" burst from the sufferer. 

"Well, I'll telephone them. If Florence comes in this morning I'mgoing to say you're asleep, so keep quiet up here. Do you want tosee Greg again?"

"No, I don't!" said Clarence, with unexpected vigor. "Steer himoff if you can. Preaching at me last night as if he'd nevertouched anything stronger than malted milk!"

"I don't imagine I'll have much trouble steering him off, " Rachaelsaid coldly. "His Sundays are pretty well occupied without--sickcalls!"

There was a delicate and scornful emphasis on the word "sick" thatbrought the blood to Clarence Breckenridge's face. Billy flushed, too, and an angry light flamed into her eyes. 

"That's not fair, Rachael!" the girl said hotly, "and you knowit's not!"

The glances of the three crossed. Billy was breathing hard;Clarence, shakily holding a fresh match to his cold cigarette, sent a lowering look from daughter to wife. Rachael shrugged hershoulders. 

"Well, I'll have my breakfast, " she said, and turning she wentfrom the room and downstairs to the sunshiny breakfast porch. There were flowers on the little round table, a bright glitter wasstruck from silver and glass, an icy grapefruit, brimming withjuice, stood at her place. The little room was all windows, andto-day the cretonne curtains had been pushed back to show thegarden brave in new spring green, the exquisite freshness of elmand locust trees that bordered it, and far away the slopes of thegolf green, with the scarlet and white dots that were earlyplayers moving over it. Sunshine flooded the world, great plumesof white and purple lilac rustled in their tents of green leaves, a bee blundered from the blossoming wistaria vine into the room, and blundered out again. Far off Rachael heard a cock breaking theSabbath stillness with a prolonged crow, and as the clock in thedining-room chimed one silver note for the half-hour, the bells ofthe church in the little village of Belvedere Bay began to ring. 

Of the comfort, the beauty, and the harmony of all this, however, Rachael saw and felt nothing. Her brief interview with her husbandhad left a bitter taste in her mouth. She felt neither courage norappetite for the new day. Annie carried away the blue bowl ofporridge untouched, reporting to Ellie: "She don't want no eggs, nor sausage, nor waffles--nothing more!"

Ellie, the cook, who boarded a four-year-old daughter with thegardener and his wife, at the gate-lodge, was deep in the robustcharms of this young person, and not sorry to be uninterrupted. 

"Thank goodness she don't, " she said. "Do you want a little waffleall for yourself, Lovey? Do you want to pour the batter into Ma'siron yourself? Pin a napkin round her, Annie! An' then you can eatit out on the steps, darlin', because it just seems to be a shameto spend a minute indoors when God sends us a mornin' like this!"

"It must have been grand, walking to church this morning, allright, " said Alfred, who was busy with golf sticks and emery onthe vine-shaded porch. 

"It was!" said Ellie and Annie together, and Annie added: "Rosefrom Bowditch's was there, and she says she can't get away butabout once a month. She always has to wait on the children'sbreakfast at eight, and then down comes the others at half-pastnine, or later, the way she never has a moment until it's too latefor High! I told her she had a right to look for another place!"

"There's worse places than this, " Ellie said, watching her smalldaughter begin on her waffle. A general nodding of heads in acontented silence indicated that there was some happiness in theBreckenridge household even though it was below stairs. 

Rachael's sombre revery was presently interrupted by the smoothcrushing of wheels on the pebbled drive and the announcement ofMrs. Haviland, who followed her name promptly into the breakfast-room. A fine, large, beautifully gowned woman, with a prayer bookin her white-gloved hand, and a veil holding her close, handsomespring hat in place, she glanced at the coffee and hot bread withsuperiority only possible to a person whose own breakfast isseveral hours past. 

"Rachael, you lazy woman!" said Florence Haviland lightly, breathing deep, as a heavy woman in tight corsets must perforcebreathe on a warm spring morning. "Do you realize that it's almosteleven o'clock?"

"Perfectly!" Mrs. Breckenridge said. "I slept until nine, and feltquite proud of myself to think that I had got through so much ofthe day!"

Mrs. Haviland gave her a sharp look in answer, not quitedisapproving, yet far from pleased. 

"I started the girlies off to eight o'clock service, " she saidcapably. "Fraulien went with them, and that leaves the maids freeto go when they please. " This was one of Mrs. Haviland's favoriteillusions. "Gardner begged off this morning, he's been so goodabout going lately that I couldn't very well refuse, so I startedearly and have just dropped him at the club. "

"Was Gardner at the Berry Stokes bachelor dinner on Friday night?"asked Rachael. Mrs. Haviland was all comprehension at once. 

"No, he couldn't. Mr. Payne of the London branch was here youknow, and Gardner's been terribly tied. He left yesterday, thankgoodness. Clarence went of course? Oh, dear, dear, dear!"

The last three words came on a gentle sigh. Clarence's sistercompressed her lips and shook her handsome head. 

"Is he very bad?" she asked reluctantly. 

"Pretty much as usual, " Rachael answered philosophically. "I hadGreg in. " And suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt a quick happyflutter at her heart, and a roseate mist drifted before her eyes. 

"It's disgraceful!" Mrs. Haviland said, eying Rachael hopefullyfor a wifely denial. As this was not forthcoming, she went onbriskly: "However, my dear, Clarence isn't the only one! They sayFred Bowditch is actually"--her voice sank to a discreet undertoneas she added the word--"violent; and poor Lucy Pickering needed arest cure the moment she got her divorce, she was in such anervous state. I'm not defending Clarence--"

"What are you doing, then?" Rachael asked, with her cool smile. 

"Well, I--" Mrs. Haviland, who had been drifting comfortably alongon a tide of words, stopped, a little at a loss. "I hope I don'thave to defend your own husband to you, Rachael, " she saidreproachfully. 

"I'm getting pretty tired of it, " said Rachael moodily. 

Mrs. Haviland watched the downcast beautiful face opposite herwith a sense of growing alarm. 

"My dear, " she said impressively, "of course it's hard for you; weall know that. But just at this time, Rachael, it would beabsolutely FATAL to have any open break with Clarence--"

Rachael flung up her head impatiently, then dropped her face inher hands. 

"I don't want any open break, " she muttered. 

"You do? Oh, you DON'T?" Mrs. Haviland questioned anxiously. "No, of course you don't. He's not himself now, for several reasons. For one--and that's what I specially came to speak to you about--for one thing, he's terribly worried about Carol. Carol, " repeatedMrs. Haviland significantly, "and Joe Pickering. "

Rachael raised sombre eyes, but did not speak. 

"Is Carol here?" her aunt asked delicately. 

"Dressing, " Rachael answered briefly. 

"Do you realize, " Mrs. Haviland said, "that everyone is beginningto talk?"

"Perfectly, " Rachael admitted. "But what do you expect me to do?"

"SOMETHING must be done, " said the other woman firmly. 

"By whom?" Rachael countered lightly. 

"Well--by Clarence, I suppose, " Mrs. Haviland suggesteddiscontentedly. 

"Clarence!" Rachael's tone was but a scornful breath. Her glancetoward the ceiling evoked more clearly than any words a vision ofClarence's condition at the moment. 

"Well, I suppose he can't do anything just now, anyway, " hissister conceded ruefully. "Can't you--couldn't you talk to her, Rachael?"

"Talk to her?" Mrs. Breckenridge smiled at some memory. "My dearFlorence, you don't suppose I haven't talked to her!"

"Well, I suppose of course you have, " Mrs. Haviland said hastily. "But my dear, it's dreadful! People are beginning to askquestions; a reporter--we don't know who he was--telephonedGardner. Of course Gardner hung up--"

"I can say no more than I have said, " Rachael observedthoughtfully. "What authority have I? Clarence could influenceher, I think, but she lies simply and flatly to Clarence. "

Mrs. Haviland winced at the ugly word. 

"Joe drinks, " Rachael went on, "but he doesn't drink as much asher adored Daddy does. Joe is thirty-nine and Billy is seventeen--well, that's not his fault. Joe is divorced--well, but Carol'smother is living, and Clarence's second wife isn't exactlyostracised by society! A clergyman of your own church marriedClarence and me--" The little scornful twist of the beautifulmouth stung a church woman conscious of personal integrity, andMrs. Haviland said:

"A great many of them won't! The church is going to take a standin the matter. The bishops are considering a canon. . .. "

Mrs. Breckenridge shrugged her shoulders indifferently. Theologydid not interest her. 

"And as Billy is too young and too blind to see that Joe isn't agentleman, " she continued, "or to realize that Lucy got herdivorce against his will, to believe that her money might wellinfluence a gentleman of Joe's luxurious tastes and dislike foroffice work--why, I suppose they will be married!"

"Never!" said Florence Haviland, with some heat, "DON'T!"

"Unless Clarence shoots him, " submitted Rachael. A look of intenseanxiety clouded Mrs. Haviland's eyes. 

"I believe he would, " she said, in a wretched whisper, with acautious glance about. 

"He might, " his wife said seriously. "If ever it comes to that, weshall simply have to keep them apart. You see Billy--the cleverlittle devil--"

"Oh, Rachael, DON'T use such words!" said the church woman. "Father Graves was saying only the other day that one's speechshould be 'yea, yea' and--"

"I daresay!" Mrs. Breckenridge's smile was indulgent. It had beenmany years since Florence had succeeded in ruffling her. "Billy, then, " she resumed, "keeps her father happy in the thought that heis all the world to her, and that her occasional chats with Joeare of an entirely uplifting and impersonal character. "

"Impersonal! Uplifting!" Mrs. Haviland repeated indignantly. "There wasn't very much uplift about them the other night. Gardnerand I stopped in to see if we couldn't take you to the Hoyts', butyou'd gone. Carol had on that flame-colored dress of hers, herhair was fluffed all over her ears in that silly way the girls donow; Joe couldn't take his eyes off her. The only light they hadin the drawing-room was the yellow lamp and the fire; it was thecoziest thing I ever saw!"

"Vivvy Sartoris was here!" Rachael said quickly. 

"Don't you believe it, my dear!" Mrs. Haviland returnedtriumphantly. "Carol was very demure, 'Tante' this and 'Tante'that, but I knew right away that something was amiss! 'Oh, ' I saidright out flatly, 'are you alone here, Carol?' and she answeredvery prettily: 'Vivian was to be here, but she hasn't come yet!'This was after half-past seven. "

"I understood Vivian WAS here, " said Rachael, flushing darkly. "Let me see--the next morning--where was I? Oh, yes, it was yourluncheon, and Billy had gone out for some tennis when I camedownstairs. I supposed of course--but I didn't ask. I DID askHelda what time she had let the gentleman out and she said beforeeleven--not much after half-past ten, in fact. "

"You see, we mustn't go on suppositions and halftruths any more, "said Mrs. Haviland in delicate reproach. "When we have thatwonderful and delicate thing, a girl's soul, to deal with, we mustbe SURE. "

"I suppose I'd better tell Clarence that--about Wednesday night, "Rachael said, downing with some effort an impulse to ask Florencenot to be so smug. 

"Well, I think you had, " the other agreed, with visible relief. 

"As for me, " Mrs. Breckenridge said, nettled by her sister-in-law's attitude, and mischievously interested in the effect of herthunderbolt, "I'm just desperately tired of it. I can't see thatI'm doing Clarence, or Billy, or myself, any good! I'd like toresign, and let somebody else try for a while!"

Steel leaped into Mrs. Haviland's light-blue eyes. She felt theshock in every fibre of body and soul, but she flung herselfgallantly into the charge. Her large form straightened, herexpression achieved a certain remoteness. 

"What do you mean by that?" she asked sharply. 

"The usual thing, I suppose, " Rachael answered indifferently. 

The older woman, watching her closely, essayed a brief, dry laugh. 

"Don't talk absurdities, " she said boldly. But Rachael saw theuneasiness under the assured manner, and smiled to herself. 

"It's not absurd at all, " she protested, still with her smiling, half-negligent air; "I've put it off years longer than most womenwould; now I'm getting rather tired. "

"It's a great mistake to talk that way, whether you mean it ornot, " Mrs. Haviland said, after an uncomfortable moment, duringwhich her face flushed, and her breath began to come rather fast. "But you're joking, of course; you're too sensible to take anystep that would only plunge you into fresh difficulties. Clarenceis very trying, I know--we all know that--but let's try to facethe situation sensibly, and not fly off the handle like this! Why, Rachael dear, I can hardly believe it's your cool-headed, reasonable self talking, " she went on more quietly. "Don't--don'teven think about it! In the first place, you couldn't get it!"

"Oh, yes, I could. Clarence wouldn't contest it, " Rachael said. "He'd agree to anything to be rid of me. If not--if he wouldn'tagree to my filing suit under the New York law, I could establishmy residence in California or Nevada, and bring suit there. . .. "

Mrs. Haviland gasped. 

"Give up your home and your car and your maids for some smallhotel?" she questioned, with her favorite air of neatly placingher fingertip upon the weak spot in her opponent's armor. "Noclubs, no dinners, none of your old friends--have you thought ofthat?"

"You may imagine that I've thought of it from a good many angles, Florence, " Rachael said coldly, finding that what had been a meredrifting idea was beginning to take rather definite form in hermind. It was delightful to see the usually complacent anddomineering Florence so agitated and at a loss. 

"I never dreamed--" Mrs. Haviland mused dazedly. "How long, inHeaven's name, have you been thinking about it?"

"Oh, quite some time, " said Rachael. 

"Well, it's awful!" the other woman said. "It'll make the mostawful--and as if poor Clarence hadn't been all through it allonce! I declare it makes me sick! But I can't believe you'reserious. Rachael, think--think what it means!"

"It's a very serious thing, " the other assented placidly. "ButClarence has no one but himself to blame. "

"Only Clarence won't BE blamed, my dear; men never are!" Mrs. Haviland suggested unkindly. Rachael reddened. 

"_I_ don't care what they say or whom they blame!" she answeredproudly. 

"Ah, well, my dear, we aren't any of us really indifferent tocriticism, " the older woman said, watching closely the effect ofher words. "People are censorious--it's too bad, it's a pity--butthere you are. 'There must have been something we didn'tunderstand, ' they say, 'there must be another man!'"

Rachael raised her head a little, and managed a smile. 

"That's what they say, " Mrs. Haviland went on, mildly triumphant. "And no matter how brave or how independent a woman is, shedoesn't like THAT. " There came to the speaker suddenly, under hersmooth flow of words, a sickening shock of realization: it was ofRachael and Clarence she was speaking, her nearest relatives; itwas one of the bulwarks of her world that was threatened! Withouther knowledge her tone became less sure and more sincere. "ForGod's sake, think what you are doing, dear, " she said pleadingly;"think of Carol and of us all! Don't drag us all through thepapers again! I know what Clarence is, poor wretched boy; he'salways had too much money, he's always had his own way. I knowwhat you put up with week in and week out--"

Mrs. Haviland's usual attitude of assured superiority neverimpressed her sister-in-law. Her pompous magnificence was a sourceof unmitigated amusement to Rachael. But now the older woman'semotion had carried her on to genuine and honest expression inspite of herself, and listening, Rachael found herself curiouslystirred. She looked down, conscious of a sudden melting in herheart, a thickening in her throat. 

"I've always been so fond of you, Rachael, " Florence went on. "I've always stood your friend--you know that--"

"I know, " Rachael said huskily, her lashes dropped. 

"Long before I knew how much you would be liked, Rachael, and whata fuss people were going to make over you, I made you welcome, "continued Florence simply, with tears in her eyes. "I thanked Godthat Clarence had married a good woman, and that Carol would havea refined and a--I may say a Christian home. Isn't that true?"

"I know, " Rachael said again with an effort, as she paused. 

"Then think it over, " besought the other woman eagerly. "Thinkthat Carol will marry, and that Clarence--" Her ardent tonedropped suddenly. There was a moment's pause. Then she addeddryly, "How do, dear?"

"How do, Tante Firenze!" said Carol, who had come abruptly intothe, room. "How are the girls? Say, listen! Is Isabelle going tothe Bowditches'?"

"I don't even know that Charlotte is going, " Mrs. Haviland said, with an auntly smile of baffling sweetness that yet contained asubtle reproof. "Uncle Gardner and I haven't made up our minds. Isabelle in any case would only go to look on, so she is not somuch interested, but poor Charlotte is simply on tenterhooks toknow whether it's to be yes or no. Girls' first parties"--herindulgent smile included Rachael--"dear me, how important theyseem!"

"I should think you'd have to answer Mrs. Bowditch, " said Carol inplain disgust at this maternal vacillation. 

"Mrs. Bowditch is fortunately an old enough friend, dear, to waivethe usual formalities, " her aunt answered sweetly. 

"But, my gracious--Charlotte's two months older than I am, and shewon't know any of the men!" Carol protested. 

"Don't speak in that precocious way, Bill, " Rachael said sharply. "You went to your first dances last winter!"

Carol gave her stepmother a look conspicuously devoid ofaffection, and turned to adjust her smart little hat with the aidof a narrow mirror hanging between the glass dining-room doors. 

"You couldn't drop me at the club, on your way to church, Tante?"she presently inquired. And to Rachael she added, with youthfulimpatience, "I told Dad where I was going!"

Mrs. Haviland rose somewhat heavily. 

"Glad to. Any chance of you coming to lunch, Rachael? What areyour plans?"

"Thank you, no, woman dear! I may go over to Gertrude's for tea. "

The little group broke up. Mrs. Haviland and her niece went out tothe waiting motor car purring on the pebbled drive. Rachael idlywatched them out of sight, sighed at the thought of wasting sobeautiful a day indoors, and went slowly upstairs. Her husband, comfortably propped in pillows, looked better. 

"Clarence, " said she, depositing several pounds of morning papersupon the foot of his bed, "who's Billy lunching with at the club?"

Clarence picked up the uppermost paper, fixed his eyes attentivelyupon it, and puffed upon his cigarette for reply. 

"Do you know?" Rachael asked vigorously. 

No answer. Mr. Breckenridge, his eyes still intent upon what hewas reading, held his cigarette at arm's length over the brassbowl on the table beside the bed, and dislodged a quarter-inch ofash with his little finger. 

Rachael, briskly setting his cluttered table to rights, gave himan angry glance that, so far as any effect upon him was concerned, was thrown away. 

"Don't be so rude, Clarence, " she said, in annoyance. "Billy saidyou agreed to her going to the club for golf. Who's she with?"

At last Mr. Breckenridge raised sodden and redshot eyes to hiswife's face, moistening his dark and swollen lips carefully withhis tongue before he spoke. He was a fat-faced man, who, despiteevidences of dissipation, did not look his more than forty years. There was no gray in his thin, silky hair, and there stilllingered an air of youth and innocence in his round face. Thismorning he was in a bad temper because his whole body was stillupset from the Friday night dinner and drinking party, and in hissoul he knew that he had cut rather a poor figure before Billy, and that the little minx had taken instant advantage of thesituation. 

"I just want to say this, Rachael, " Clarence said, with an icydignity only slightly impaired by the lingering influences ofdrink. "I'm Billy's father, and I understand her, and sheunderstands me. That's all that's necessary; do you get me?" Heput his cigarette holder back in his mouth, gripped it firmlybetween his teeth, and turned again to his paper. "If some of youdamned jealous women who are always running around trying to maketrouble would let her ALONE" he went on sulkily, "I'd be obligedto you--that's all!"

Rachael settled her ruffles in a big wing-chair with the innocentexpression of a casual caller. She took a book from the readingtable, and fluttered a few pages indifferently. 

"Listen, Clancy, " said she placatingly. "Florence was just here, and she says--and I agree--that there is no question that JoePickering is devoted to Bill. Now, I don't say that Billy isequally devoted--"

"Ha! Better not!" said Clarence at white heat, one eye watchfulover the top of the paper. 

"But I DO say, " pursued Rachael steadily, "that she is with him agood deal more than she will admit. Yesterday, for instance, whenshe was playing tennis with the Parmalees and the Pinckard boy, Kent came up to the house to get some ginger ale. I happened to bedummy, and I went out on the terrace. Joe's horse was down nearthe courts, and Joe and Billy were sitting there on one of thebenches--where the others were I don't know. When Kent went downwith the ginger ale, Joe got on his horse and went off. Of courseit was only for a few minutes, but Billy didn't say anything aboutit--"

Her voice, with a tentative question in it, rested in air. Clarence turned a page with some rustling of paper. 

"Then Florence says, " Rachael went on after a moment, "that whenshe and Gardner stopped here Wednesday night Joe was here, andVivvie Sartoris wasn't here. Now, of course, I don't KNOW, for Ididn't ask Alfred---"

"There you go, " said the sick man witheringly. "That's right--askthe maids, and get all the servants talking; all come down on theheels of a poor little girl like a pack of yapping wolves! Isuppose if she was plain and unattractive--I should think you'd beashamed, " he went on, changing his high and querulous key to oneof almost priestly authority and reproof, "Upon my word, it'sbeneath your dignity. My little girl comes to me, and she explainsthe whole matter. Pickering admires her--she can't help that--andshe has an influence over him. She tells me he hasn't touched athing but beer for six weeks, just because she asked him to giveup heavy drinking. He told her the other day that if he had mether a few years ago, Lucy never would have left him. She's wakenedthe boy up, he's a different fellow--"

"All that may be true, " Rachael said quickly, the color that hispreposterous rebuke had summoned to her cheeks still flushingthem, "still, you don't want Billy to marry Joe Pickering! Youknow that sort of pity, and that business of reforming a man--"She paused, but Clarence did not speak. "Not that Billy herselfrealizes it, I daresay, " Rachael added presently, watching thereader's absorbed face for an answering look. 

Silence. 

"Clarence!" she began imperatively. 

Clarence withdrew his attention from the paper with an obviouseffort, and spoke in a laboriously polite tone. 

"I don't care to discuss it, Rachael. "

"But--" Rachael stopped short on the word. Silence reigned in thebig, bright room except for the occasional rustle of Clarence'snewspaper. His wife sat idle, her eyes roving indifferently fromthe gayly papered walls to the gayly flowered hangings, the greatbowl of daffodils on the bookcase, the portrait of Carol that, youthful and self-conscious, looked down from the mantel. On thedesk a later photograph of Carol, in a silver frame, was dulyflanked by one of Rachael, the girl in the gown she had worn forher first big dance, the woman looking out from under the narrowbrim of a snug winter hat, great furs framing her beautiful face, and her slender figure wrapped in furs. Here also was a picture ofFlorence Haviland, her handsome face self-satisfied, her trio ofhomely, distinguished-looking girls about her, and a small pictureof Gardner, and two of Clarence's dead mother: one, as they allremembered her, a prim-looking woman with gray hair andmagnificent lace on her unfashionable gown, the other, takenthirty years before, showing her as cheerful and youthful, acascade of ringlets falling over her shoulder, the arm thatcoquettishly supported her head resting upon an upholsteredpedestal, a voluminous striped silk gown sweeping away from her inrich folds. There was even a picture of Clarence and Florence whenthey were respectively eight and twelve, Clarence in a buttonedserge kilt and plaid stockings, his fat, gentle little face framedin damp careful curls, Florence also with plaid stockings and ascalloped frock. Clarence sat in a swing; Florence, just behindhim, leaned on an open gate, her legs crossed carelessly as sherested on her elbows. And there was a picture of their father, asimple-faced man in an ample beard, taken at that period whenphotographs were highly glazed, and raised in bas relief. Leastconspicuous of all was a snapshot framed in a circle of batteredblue-enamel daisies, the picture of a baby girl laughing against abackground of dandelions and meadow grass. And Rachael knew thatthis was Clarence's greatest treasure, that it went wherever hewent, and that it was worn shabby and tarnished from his hands andhis lips. 

Sometimes she looked at it and wondered. What a bright-faced, gaylittle thing Billy had been! Who had set her down in that field, and quieted the rioting eyes and curls and dimples, and anchoredthe restless little feet, while Baby watched Dad and the black boxwith the birdie in it? Paula? Once, idly interested in those olddays before she had known him, she had asked about the picture. But Clarence, glad to talk of it, had not mentioned his wife. 

"It was before my father died; we were up in the old Maine place, "he had said. "Gosh, Bill was cute that day! We went on a drive--nomotor cars then--and took our lunch, and after lunch the kid comesand settles herself in my arms--for a nap, if you please! 'Say, look-a-here, ' I said, 'what do you think I am--a Pullman?' Iwanted a smoke, by George! She wasn't two, you know. Her fatlittle legs were bare, we'd put her into socks, and her face wasflushed, and she just looked up at me through her hair and said, 'Hing!' Well, it was good-bye smoke for me! I sang all right, andshe cuddled down as pleased as a kitten, and off she went!"

To-day Rachael's eyes wandered from the picture to Clarence'sface. She tried to study it dispassionately, but, still shaken bytheir recent conversation, and sitting there, as she knew she wassitting there, merely to prove that it had had no effect upon her, she felt this to be a little difficult. 

What sort of a little boy had he been? A fat little boy, ofcourse. She disliked fat little boys. A spoiled little boy, nevercrossed in any way. His mother made him go to Sunday-school, anddancing school, and to Miss Nesmith's private academy, where hewas coaxed and praised and indulged even more than at home. Andold Fanny, who was still with Florence, superintended his bathsand took care of his clothes, and ran her finger over the bristlesof his toothbrush every morning, to see if he had told her thetruth. He rarely did; they used to laugh about those olddeceptions. Clarence used to laugh as violently as the old womanwhen she accused him of occasional kicking and biting. 

Other boys came in to play with him. Was it because of his magiclantern and his velocipede, his unending supply of cream puffs andlicorice sticks, or because they liked him? Rachael knew only adetail here and there: that he had danced a fancy dance with AnnaVanderwall when he was a fat sixteen, at a Kermess, and that hehad given a stag dinner to twenty youths of his own age a few daysbefore he went off to college, and that they had drunk a hundredand fifty dollars' worth of champagne. She knew that his allowanceat college was three hundred dollars a month, and that he neverstayed within it, and it was old Fanny's boast that every stitchthe boy ever wore from the day he was born came from London orParis. His underwear was as dainty as a bride's; he had his firstdress suit at fifteen; at college he had his suite of three bigrooms furnished like showrooms, his monogrammed cigarettes, hisboat, and his horse. 

The thought of all these things used to distress his mother whenshe was old and much alone. She attempted to belittle the luxuryof Clarence's boyhood. She told Rachael that he was treated justas the other boys were. Her conscience was never quite easy abouthis upbringing. 

"You can't hold a boy too tight, you know, or else he'll breakaway altogether, " old lady Breckenridge would say to Rachael, sitting before a coal fire in the gloomy magnificence of her old-fashioned drawingroom and pressing the white fingers of one handagainst the agonized joints of the other. "I was often severe withClarence, and he was a good boy until he got with other boys; hewas always loving to me. He never should have married PaulaVerlaine, " she would add fretfully. "A good woman would haveoverlooked his faults and made a fine man of him, but she wasalways an empty-headed little thing! Ah, well"--and the poor oldwoman would sigh as she drew her fluffy shawl about her shoulders--"I cannot blame myself, that's my great consolation now, Rachael, when I think of facing my Master and rendering an account. I havebeen heavily afflicted, but I am not the first God-fearing womanwho has been visited with sorrow through her children!"

Clarence had visited his mother often in the weeks that precededher death, but she did not take much heed of his somewhatembarrassed presence, nor, to Rachael's surprise, did her lasthours contain any of those heroic joys that are supposedly thereward of long suffering and virtue. An unexpressed terror seemedto linger in her sickroom, indeed to pervade the whole house; theinvalid lay staring drearily at the heavy furnishings of herimmense dark room, a nurse slipped in and out; the bloody light ofthe westering sun, falling through stairway windows of coloredglass, blazed in the great hallway all through the chilly Octoberafternoons. Callers came and went, there were subdued voices andsoft footsteps; flowers came, their wet fragrance breaking fromoiled paper and soaked cardboard boxes, the cards that were wiredto them resisting all attempts at detachment. Clergymen came, andRachael imitated their manner afterward, to the general delight. 

On the day before she died Mrs. Breckenridge caught her son'splump cool hand in her own hot one, and made him promise to stopdrinking, and to go to church, and to have Carol confirmed. Clarence promised everything. 

But he did not keep his promises. Rachael had not thought hewould; perhaps the old lady herself had not thought he would. Hewas sobered at the funeral, but not sober. Six weeks later all thebills against the estate were in. Florence had some of the familyjewels and the family silver, Rachael had some, some was put awayfor Billy; the furniture was sold, the house rented for a men'sclub, and a nondescript man, calling upon young Mrs. Breckenridge, notified her that the stone had been set in place as ordered. Theynever saw it; they paid a small sum annually for keeping the plotin order, and the episode of Ada Martin Langhorne Breckenridge'slife was over. 

Clarence drank so heavily after that, and squandered hismagnificent heritage so recklessly, that people began to say thathe would soon follow his mother. But that was four years ago, andRachael looking dispassionately at him, where he lay dozing in hispillows, had to admit that he had shown no change in the pastfour--or eight, or twelve--years. Like many a better woman, andmany a better wife, she wondered if she would outlive him, vaguelysaw herself, correct and remote, in her new black. 

Involuntarily she sighed. How free she would be! She wishedClarence no ill, but the fact remained that, loose as was the bondbetween them, it galled and checked them both at every step. Theirconversations were embittered by a thousand personalities, theyinstinctively knew how to hurt each other; a look from Clarencecould crush his poised and accomplished wife into a mere sullenshrew, and she knew that it took less than a look from her--ittook the mere existence of her youth and health and freshness--toinfuriate him sometimes. At best, their relationship consciouslyavoided hostility. Rachael was silent, fuming; Clarence fumed andwas silent; they sank to light monosyllables; they parted asquickly as possible. Would Clarence like to dine with this friendor that? Rachael didn't think he would, but might as well ask him. No, thank you! he wouldn't be found dead in that bunch. DidRachael want to go with the Smiths and the Joneses to dine at theHighway, and dance afterward? Oh, horrors! no, thank you!

It was only when she spoke of Billy that Rachael was sure of hisinterest and attention, and of late she perforce had for Billyonly criticism and disapproval. Rachael read the girl's vain andshallow and pleasure-loving little heart far more truly than herfather could, and she was conscious of a genuine fear lest Billybring sorrow to them all. Society was indulgent, yes, but aninsolent and undeveloped little girl like Billy could not snap herfingers at the law without suffering the full penalty. Rachaelwould suffer, too. Florence and her girls would suffer, andClarence--well, Clarence would not bear it. "What an awful mix-upit is!" Rachael thought wearily. "And what a sickening, tiresomeplace this world is!"

And then suddenly the thought of Warren Gregory came back, and thenew curious sensation of warmth tugged at her heart. 

CHAPTER IV

Mrs. Gardner Haviland, whirling home in her big car, after church, was hardly more pleased with life than was her beautiful sister-in-law, although she was not quite as conscious of dissatisfactionas was Rachael. Her position as a successful mother, wife, housekeeper, and member of society was theoretically so perfectthat she derived from it, necessarily, an enormous amount oftheoretical satisfaction. She could find no fault with herself orher environment; she was pleasantly ready with advice or with anopinion or with a verdict in every contingency that might arise inhuman affairs, as a Christian woman of unimpeachable moralstanding. She knew her value in a hectic and reckless world. Shedid not approve of women smoking, or of suffrage, but she played abrilliant game of bridge, and did not object to an infinitesimalstake. She belonged to clubs and to their directorates, yet it washer boast that she knew every thought in her children's hearts, and the personal lives and hopes and ambitions of her maids wereas an open book to her. 

Still, she had her moments of weakness, and on this warm day ofthe spring she felt vaguely disappointed with life. Rachael'shints of divorce had filled her with a real apprehension; she felta good aunt's concern at Billy's reckless course, and a goodsister's disapproval of Clarence and his besetting sin. 

But it was not these considerations that darkened her fullhandsome face as she went up the steps of her big, widespreadcountry mansion; it was some vaguer, more subtle discontent. Shehad not dressed herself for the sudden warmth of the day, and herheavy flowered hat and trim veil had given her a headache. Theblazing sunlight on white steps and blooming flowers blinded her, and when she stepped into the dark, cool hall she could hardlysee. 

The three girls were there, well-bred, homely girls, in theirsimple linens: Charlotte, a rather severe type, eyeglassed ateighteen, her thick, light-brown hair plainly brushed off her faceand knotted on her neck, was obviously the opposite of everythingBilly was; conscientious, intellectual, and conscious of her ownrighteousness, she could not compete with her cousin in Billy'sfield; she very sensibly made the best of her own field. Isabellewas a stout, clumsy girl of sixteen, with a metal bar across herlarge white teeth, red hair, and a creamy skin. Little Florencewas only nine, a thin, freckled, sensitive child, with a shy, unsmiling passion for dogs and horses, and little in common withthe rest of the world. 

Their mother had expected sons in every case, and still felt alittle baffled by the fact of her children's sex. Charlotteproving a girl, she had said gallantly that she must have a littlebrother "to play with Charlotte. " Isabelle, duly arriving, probably played with Charlotte much more amiably than a brotherwould have done, and Mrs. Haviland blandly accepted her existence, but in her heart she was far from feeling satisfied. She was, ofcourse, an absolutely competent mother to girls, but she felt thatshe would have been a more capable and wonderful mother to boys. 

More than six years after Isabelle's birth Florence Haviland beganto talk smilingly of "my boy. " "Gardner worships the girls, " shesaid, with wifely indulgence, "but I know he wants a son--and thegirlies need a brother!" A resigned shrug ended the sentence with:"So I'm in for the whole thing again!"

It was said that Mrs. Haviland greeted the news that the thirdchild was a daughter with a mechanically bright smile, as onepuzzled beyond all words by perverse event, and that her spokencomment was the single mild ejaculation: "Extraordinary!"

Now the two older Haviland girls, following their mother into herbedroom, seated themselves there while she changed her dress. Florence junior, in passionate argument with the butler over thedeath of one of the drawing-room goldfish, remained downstairs. Mrs. Haviland, casting the hot, high-collared silk upon the bed, took a new embroidered pongee from a box, and busied herself withits unfamiliar hooks and straps. Charlotte and Isabelle were neverquite spontaneous in their conversations with their mother, theirattitude in talking with her being one of alert and cautious self-consciousness; they did not breathe quite naturally, and theylaughed constantly. Yet they both loved this big, firm, omnipotentbeing, and believed in her utterly and completely. 

"We met Doctor Gregory and Charlie near the club this morning, M'ma, " volunteered Isabelle. 

"And they asked about Mrs. Bowditch's dance, " Charlotte added witha little innocent craft. "But I said that M'ma had been unable todecide. Of course I said that we would LIKE to go, and that youknew that, and would allow it if you possibly could. "

"That was quite right, dear, " Mrs. Haviland said to her oldestdaughter, calmly ignoring the implied question, and to Isabelleshe added kindly: "M'ma doesn't quite like to hear you calling ayoung man you hardly know by his first name, Isabelle. Of course, there's no harm in it, but it cheapens a girl just a LITTLE. WhileCharlotte might do it because she is older, and has seen CharlieGregory at some of the little informal affairs last winter, youare younger, and haven't really seen much of him since he went tocollege. Don't let M'ma hear you do that again. "

Isabelle turned a lively scarlet, and even Charlotte colored andwas silent. The younger girl's shamed eyes met her mother's, andshe nodded in quick embarrassment. But this tacit consent did notsatisfy Mrs. Haviland. 

"You understand M'ma, don't you, dear?" she asked. Isabellemurmured something indistinguishable. 

"Yes, M'ma!" said that lady herself, encouragingly and briskly. Isabelle duly echoed a husky "Yes, M'ma!"

"Did you give my message to Miss Roper, Charlotte?" pursued thematron. 

"She wasn't at church, M'ma, " said Charlotte, taken unawares andinstinctively uneasy. "Mrs. Roper said she had a heavy cold; shesaid she'd been sleeping on the sleeping porch. "

"So M'ma's message was forgotten?" the mother asked pleasantly. 

Charlotte perceived herself to be in an extremely dangerousposition. Long ago both girls had lost, under this closesurveillance and skilful system of cross-examination, theiroriginal regard for truth as truth. That they usually said whatwas true was because policy and self-protection suggested it. Charlotte had time now for a flying survey of the situation andits possibilities before she answered, somewhat uncertainly:

"I asked Mrs. Roper to deliver it, M'ma. Wasn't that--" Her voicefaltered nervously. "Was it something you would have rathertelephoned about?"

"Would rather have telephoned about?" Mrs. Haviland correctedautomatically. "Well, M'ma would rather FEEL that when she sends amessage it is given to JUST the person to whom she sent it, inJUST the way she sent it. However, in this case no harm was done. Don't hook your heel over the rung of your chair, dear! Ring thebell, Isabelle, I want Alice. "

"I'll hook you, M'ma!" volunteered Charlotte. 

"Thank you, dear, but I want to speak to Alice. And now you girlsmight run along. I'll be down directly. "

A moment later she submitted herself patiently to the maid'shands. Florence was a conscientious woman, and she felt that sheowed Alice as well as herself this little office. Charlotte mighthave hooked her gown for her; indeed, she might with a smalleffort have done it herself, but it was Alice's duty, and nothingcould be worse for Alice, or any servant, than to have her dutieserratically assumed by others on one day and left to her on thenext. This was the quickest way to spoil servants, and Florencenever spoiled her servants. 

"They have a pleasant day for their picnic, " she observed now, kindly. Alice was on her knees, her face puckered as she busiedherself with the hooks of a girdle, but she smiled gratefully. Hertwo brothers had borrowed their employer's coal barge to-day, andwith a score of cherished associates, several hundred sandwiches, sardines, camp-chairs, and bottles of root beer, with a smallernumber of chaperoning mothers and concertinas, and the inevitablebaby or two, were making a day of it on the river. Alice hadtimidly asked, a few days before, for a holiday to-day, that shemight join them, but Mrs. Haviland had pointed out to herreasonably that she, Alice, had been at home, unexpectedly, because of her mother's illness, not only the previous Sunday, butthe Saturday, too, and had got half-a-day's leave of absence forher cousin's wedding only the week before that. Alice was onlyeighteen, and her little spurt of bravery had been entirelyexhausted long before her mistress's pleasant voice had stopped. Nothing more was said of the excursion until to-day. 

"I guess they'll be eating their lunch, now, at Old Dock Point, "said Alice, rising from her knees. 

"Well, I hope they'll be careful; one hears of so many accidentsamong foolish young people there!" Mrs. Haviland answered, goingdownstairs to join her daughters in the hall, and, surrounded bythem, proceeding to her own lunch. 

For a while she was thoughtfully silent, and the conversation wasmaintained between the older girls and their governess. Charlotteand Isabelle chatted both German and French charmingly. LittleFlorence presently began to talk of her goldfish, meanwhilecutting a channel across her timbale through which the gravy ranin a stream. 

Usually their mother listened to them with a quiet smile; theywere well-educated girls, and any mother's heart must have beenproud of them. But to-day she felt herself singularly dissatisfiedwith them. She said to herself that she hated Sundays, of all thedays of the week. Other days had their duties: music, studies, riding, tennis, or walks, but on Sundays the girls were a deadweight upon her. Somehow, they were not in the current of goodtimes that the other girls and boys of their ages were having. Ifshe suggested brightly that they go over to the Parmalees' or theMorans' and see if the young people were playing tennis, she knewthat Charlotte would delicately negative the idea: "They've gottheir sets all made up, M'ma, and one hates to, unless theyspecially ask one, don't you know?" They might go, of course, andgreet their friends decorously, and watch the game smilingly for awhile. Then they would come home with Fraulein, not forgetting tosay good-bye to their hostess. But, although Charlotte played abetter game than many of the other girls, and Isabelle played agood game, too, there were always gay little creatures in dashingcostumes who monopolized the courts and the young men, and madethe Haviland girls feel hopelessly heavy and dull. They would comehome and tell their mother that Vivian Sartoris let two of theboys jump her over the net, and that Cousin Carol wore KentParmalee's panama all afternoon, and called out to him, rightacross the court, "Come on down to the boathouse, Kent, and let'shave a smoke!"

"Poor Vivian--poor Billy!" Mrs. Haviland would say. "Men don'treally admire girls who allow them such familiarities, althoughthe silly girls may think they do! But when it comes to marrying, it is the sweet, womanly girls to whom the men turn!"

She did not believe this herself, nor did the girls believe it, but, if they discussed it when they were alone together, beforeMamma, they were always decorously impressed. 

"Any plans for the afternoon, girlies?" she asked now, when theforced strawberries were on the table, and little Florence wastrying to eat the nuts out of her cake, and at the same timecarefully avoid the cake itself and the frosting. 

"What's Carol doing, M'ma?"

"When M'ma asks you a question, Isabelle, do not answer withanother question, dear. I dropped Carol at the club, but I thinkAunt Rachael means to pick her up there later, and go on to Mrs. Whittaker's for tea. "

"We met Mrs. Whittaker in the Exchange yesterday, M'ma, and shevery sweetly said that you were to--that is, that she hoped youwould bring us in for a little while this afternoon. Didn't she, Isabelle?"

"I don't want to go!" Isabelle grumbled. But her mother ignoredher. 

"That was very sweet of Aunt Gertrude. I think I will go over tothe club and see what Papa is planning and how his game is going, and then I could pick you girls up here. "

"I'm going over to play with Georgie and Robbie Royce!" shrilledFlorence. "They're mean to me, but I don't care! I hit George inthe stomach---"

Mrs. Haviland looked as pained as if the reported blow had fallenupon her own person, but she was strangely indulgent to heryoungest born, and now did no more than signal to the nurse, oldFanny, who stood grinning behind the child's chair, that MissFlorence might be excused. Florence was accordingly borne off, andthe girls drifted idly upstairs, Isabelle confiding to her sisteras she dutifully brushed her teeth that she wished "something"would happen! Alice muttered to Sally, another maid, over herstrong hot tea, that you might as well be dead as never do a thingin God's world you wanted to do, but the rest of the large staffenjoyed a hearty meal, and when Percival brought the car around atthree o'clock, Mrs. Haviland, magnificent in a change of costume, spent the entire trip to the club in the resentful reflection thatthe man had obviously had coffee and cream and mutton for hislunch--disgusting of him to come straight to his car and hismistress still redolent of his meal, but what could one do? InMrs. Haviland's upper rear hall was a framed and typewritten listof rules for the maids, conspicuous upon which were those fordaily baths and regular use of toothbrushes. But Percival neverhad seen this list, and he was a wonderful driver and a specialfavorite with her husband. She decided that there was nothing tobe done, unless of course the thing recurred, although themoment's talk with Percival haunted and distressed her all day. 

She duly returned to the house for her daughters a little afterfour o'clock, and in amicable conversation they went together tothe tea, a crowded, informal affair, in another large house fullof rugs and flowers, rooms dark and rich with expensive tapestriesand mahogany, rooms bright and gay with white enamel and chintzand wicker furniture. 

Everybody was here. Jeanette and Phyllis, as well as ElinorVanderwall, Peter Pomeroy and George, the Buckneys and ParkerHoyt, the Emorys, the Chases, Mrs. Sartoris and old Mrs. Torrenceand Jack, all jumbled a greeting to the Havilands. Of Carol theypresently caught a glimpse standing on a sheltered little porchwith Joe Pickering's sleek head beside her. They were apparentlynot talking, just staring quietly down at the green terraces ofthe garden. Rachael was pouring tea, her face radiant under anarrowbrimmed, close hat loaded with cherries, her gown of narrowgreen and white stripes the target for every pair of female eyesin the room. 

Charlotte Haviland, in her mother's wake, chanced to encounterKenneth Moran, a red-faced, well-dressed and blushing youth of herown age. Her complacent mother was witness to the blamelessconversation between them. 

"How do you do, Kenneth? I didn't know you were here!"

"Oh, how do you do, Charlotte? How do you do, Isabelle? I didn'tknow you were here!"

Isabelle grinned silently in horrible embarrassment but Charlottesaid, quick-wittedly:

"How is your mother, Kenneth, and Dorothy?"

"She's well--they're well, thank you. They're here somewhere--atleast Mother is. I think Dorothy's still over at the Clays', playing tennis!"

He laughed violently at this admission, and Charlotte laughed, too. 

"It's lovely weather for tennis, " she said encouragingly. "We--"

"You--" Mr. Moran began. "I beg your pardon!"

"No, I interrupted you!"

"No, that was my fault. I was only going to say that we ought tohave a game some morning. Going to have your courts in order thisyear?"

"Yes, indeed, " Charlotte said, with what was great vivacity forher. "Papa has had them all rolled; some men came down from town--we had it all sodded, you know, last year. "

"Is that right?" asked Mr. Moran, as one deeply impressed. "Wemust go to it--what?"

"We must!" Charlotte said happily. "Any morning, Kenneth!"

"Sure, I'll telephone!" agreed the youth enthusiastically. "I'mtrying to find Kent Parmalee; his aunt wants him!" he addedmumblingly, as he began to vaguely shoulder his way through thecrowd again. 

"You'd better take a microscope!" said Charlotte wittily. And Mr. Moran's burst of laughter and his "That's right, too!" came backto them as he went away. 

"Dear fellow!" Mrs. Haviland said warmly. 

"Isn't he nice!" Charlotte said, fluttered and glowing. She hopedin her heart that she would meet him again, but although theHavilands stayed until nearly six o'clock they did not do so;perhaps because shortly after this conversation Kenneth Moran metMiss Vivian Sartoris, and they took a plateful of rich, crushylittle cakes and went and sat under the stairs, where they tookalternate bites of each other's mocha and chocolate confections, and where Vivian told Kenneth all about a complicated andthrilling love affair between herself and one of the popularactors of the day. This narrative reflected more credit upon theyoung woman's imagination than upon her charms had the listenerbut suspected it, but Kenneth was not a brilliant boy, and theyhad a lovely time over their confidences. 

Charlotte's romantic encounter with the gentleman, however, madeher happy for several hours, and colored her cheeks rosily. 

"You're getting pretty, Carlotta!" said her Aunt Rachael, observing this. "Don't drink tea, that's a good child! You canstuff on cakes and chocolate of course, Isabelle, " she added, "butCharlotte's complexion ought to be her FIRST THOUGHT for the nextfive years!"

"I don't really want any, " asserted Charlotte, feeling wonderfullygrown-up and superior to the claims of a nursery appetite. "Butcan't I help you, Aunt Rachael?"

"No, my dear, you can't! I'm through the worst of it, and beingbored slowly but firmly to death! Gertrude, I'm just saying thatyour party bores me. "

"So sorry about you, Rachael!" said the slim, laceclad hostesscalmly. "Here's Judy Moran! Nearly six, Judy, and we dine at sevenon Sundays. But never mind, eat and drink your fill, my child. "

"Billy's flirtin' her head off out there!" wheezed stout Mrs. Moran, dropping into a chair. "Joe and Kent and young Gregory andhalf a dozen others are out there with her. "

Mrs. Breckenridge, who had begun to frown, relaxed in her chair. 

"Ah, well, there's safety in numbers!" she said, reassured. "Youtake cream, Judy, and two lumps? Give Mrs. Moran some of thoselittle damp, brown sandwiches, Isabelle. A minute ago she had someof the most heavenly hot toast here, but she's taken it awayagain! I wish I could get some tea myself, but I've tried threetimes and I can't!"

She busied herself resignedly with tongs and teapot, and as Mrs. Moran bit into her first sandwiches, and the Haviland girls movedaway at a word from their mother, Rachael raised her eyes and metWarren Gregory's look. 

He was standing, ten feet away, in a doorway, his eyelids halfdropped over amused eyes, his hands sunk in his coat pockets. Rachael knew that he had been there for some moments, and herheart struggled and fluttered like a bird in a snare, and with athrill as girlish as Charlotte's own she felt the color rise inher cheeks. 

"Come have some tea, Greg, " she said, indicating the empty chairbeside her. 

"Thank you, dear, " he answered, his head close to hers for amoment as he sat down. The little word set Rachael's heart tohammering again. She glanced quickly to see if Mrs. Moran hadoverheard, but that lady had at last caught sight of the maid withthe hot toast, and her ample back was turned toward the teatable. 

Indeed, in the noisy, disordered room, which was beginning to bedeserted by straggling groups of guests, they were quiteunobserved. To both it was a delicious moment, this littledomestic interlude of tea and talk in the curved window of thedining-room, lighted by the last light of a spring day, and sweetwith the scent of wilting spring flowers. 

"You make my heart behave in a manner not to be described inwords!" said Rachael, her fingers touching his as she handed himhis tea. 

"It must be mine you feel, " suggested Warren Gregory; "you haven'tone--by all accounts!"

"I thought I hadn't, Greg, but, upon my word---" She puckered herlips and raised her eyebrows whimsically, and gave her head alittle shake. Doctor Gregory gave her a shrewdly appraising look, sighed, and stirred his tea. 

"If ever you discover yourself to be the possessor of such anorgan, Rachael, " said he dispassionately, "you won't joke about itover a tea-table! You'll wake up, my friend; we'll see somethingbesides laughter in those eyes of yours, and hear somethingbesides cool reason in your voice! I may not be the man to do it, but some man will, some day, and--when John Gilpin rides--"

The eyes to which he referred had been fixed in serene confidenceupon his as he began to speak. But a second later Rachael droppedthem, and they rested upon her own slender hand, lying idle uponthe teatable, with its plain gold ring guarded by a dozen blazingstones. Had he really stirred her, Warren Gregory wondered, as hewatched the thoughtful face under the bright, cherry-loaded hat. 

"You know how often there is neither cool reason nor any cause forlaughter in my life, Greg, " she said, after a moment. "As forlove--I don't think I know what love is! I am an absolutelycalculating woman, and my first, last, and only view of anythingis just how much it affects me and my comfort. "

"I don't believe it!" said the doctor. 

"It's true. And why shouldn't it be?" Rachael gave him a gravesmile. "No one, " said she seriously, "ever--ever--EVER suggestedto me that there was anything amiss in that point of view! Why isthere?"

"I don't understand you, " said the doctor simply. 

"One doesn't often talk this way, I suppose, " she said slowly. "But there is a funny streak of--what shall I call it?--conscience, or soul, or whatever you like, in me. Whether I get itfrom my mother's Irish father or my father's clergymangrandfather, I don't know, but I'm eternally defending myself. Ihave long sessions with myself, when I'm judge and jury, andinvariably I find 'Not Guilty!'"

"Not guilty of what?" the man asked, stirring his untasted cup. 

"Not guilty of anything!" she answered, with a child's puzzledlaugh. "I stick to my bond, I dress and talk and eat and go about--" Her voice dropped; she stared absently at the table. 

"But--" the doctor prompted. 

"But--that's just it--but I'm so UNHAPPY all the time!" Rachaelconfessed. "We all seem like a lot of puppets, to me--like Bander-log! What are we all going round and round in circles for, and whogets any fun out of it? What's YOUR answer, Greg--what makes thewheels go round?"

"'Tis love--'tis love--that makes--etcetera, etcetera, " suppliedthe doctor, his tone less flippant than his words. 

"Oh--love!" Rachael's voice was full of delicate scorn. "I've seena great deal of all sorts and kinds of love, " she went on, "and Imust say that I consider love a very much overrated article!You're laughing at me, you bold gossoon, but I mean it. Clarenceloved Paula madly, kidnapped her from a boarding-school and allthat, but I don't know how much THEIR seven years together helpedthe world go round. He never loved me, never once said he did, butI've made him a better wife than she did. He loves Bill, now, andit's the worst thing in the world for her!"

"THERE'S some love for you, " said Doctor Gregory, glancing acrossthe room to the figures of Miss Leila Buckney and Mr. Parker Hoyt, who were laughing over a cabinet full of ivories. 

"I wonder just what would happen there if Parker lost his moneyto-morrow--if Aunt Frothy died and left it all to Magsie Clay?"Rachael suggested, smiling. 

The doctor answered only with a shrug. 

"More than that, " pursued Rachael, "suppose that Parker woke upto-morrow morning and found his engagement was all a dream, foundthat he really hadn't asked Leila to marry him, and that he was asfree as air. Do you suppose that the minute he'd had his breakfasthe would go straight over to Leila's house and make his dream aheavenly reality? Or would he decide that there was no hurry aboutit, and that he might as well rather keep away from the Buckneyhouse until he'd made up his mind?"

"I suppose he might convince himself that an hour or two's delaywouldn't matter!" said the doctor, laughing. 

"If you talk to me of clothes, or of jewelry, or of what one oughtto send a bride, and what to say in a letter of condolence, I knowwhere I am, " said Rachael, "but love, I freely confess, issomething else again!"

"I suppose my mother has known great love, " said the man, after apause. "She spends her days in that quiet old house dreaming aboutmy father, and my brothers, looking at their pictures, and readingtheir letters--"

"But, Greg, she's so unhappy!" Rachael objected briskly. "Andlove--surely the contention is that love ought to make one happy?"

"Well, I think her memories DO make her happy, in a way. Althoughmy mother is really too conscientious a woman to be happy, sheworries about events that are dead issues these twenty years. Shewonders if my brother George might have been saved if she hadnoticed his cough before she did; there was a child who died atbirth, and then there are all the memories of my father's death--the time he wanted ice water and the doctors forbade it, and helooked at her reproachfully. Poor Mother!"

"You're a joy to her anyway, Greg, " Rachael said, as he paused. 

"Charley is, " he conceded thoughtfully, "and in a way I know I am!But not in every way, of course, " Warren Gregory smiled a littleruefully. 

"So the case for love is far from proved, " Rachael summarizedcheerfully. "There's no such thing!"

"On the contrary, there isn't anything else, REALLY, in theworld, " smiled the man. "I've seen it shining here and there; weget away from it here, somewhat, I'll admit"--his glance andgesture indicated the other occupants of the room--"and, like you, I don't quite know where we miss it, and what it's all about, butthere have been cases in our wards, for instance: girls whosehusbands have been brought in all smashed up--"

"Girls who saw themselves worried about rent and bread andbutter!" suggested Rachael in delicate irony. 

"No, I don't think so. And mothers--mothers hanging over sickchildren--"

The women nodded quickly. 

"Yes, I know, Greg. There's something very appealing about a sickkiddie. Bill was ill once, just after we were married, such alittle thing she looked, with her hair all cut! And that DID--nowthat I remember it--it really did bring Clarence and metremendously close. We'd sit and wait for news, and slip out forlittle meals, and I'd make him coffee late at night. I rememberthinking then that I never wanted a child, to make me suffer as wesuffered then!"

"Mother love, then, we concede, " Doctor Gregory said, smiling. 

"Well, yes, I suppose so. Some mothers. I don't believe a motherlike Florence ever was really made to suffer through loving. However, there IS mother love!"

"And married love. "

"No, there I don't agree. While the novelty lasts, while thepassion lasts--not more than a year or two. Then there's justcivility--opening the city house, opening the country house, entertaining, going about, liking some things about each other, loathing others, keeping off the dangerous places until the crashcomes, or, perhaps, for some lucky ones, doesn't come!"

"What a mushy little sentimentalist you are, Rachael!" Gregorysaid with a rather uncomfortable laugh. "You're too dear and sweetto talk that way! It's too bad--it's too bad to have you feel so!I wish that I could carry you away from all these people here--just for a while! I'd like to prescribe that sea beach you spokeabout last night! Wouldn't we love our desert island! Would youhelp me build a thatched hut, and a mud oven, and string shells inyour hair, and swim way out in the green breakers with me?"

"And what makes you think that there would be some saving elementin our relationship?" Rachael asked in a low voice. "What makesyou think that our love would survive the--the dry-rot of life?People would send us silver and rugs, and there would be a lot ofengraving, and barrels of champagne, and newspaper men trying tocross-examine the maids, and caterers all over the place, but afew years later, wouldn't it be the same old story? You talk of adesert island, and swimming, and seaweed, Greg! But my ideas of adesert island isn't Palm Beach with commercial photographerssnapping at whoever sits down in the sand! Look about us, Greg--who's happy? Who isn't watching the future for just this or justthat to happen before she can really feel content? Young girls allwant to be older and more experienced, older girls want to beyoung; this one is waiting for the new house to be ready, thatone--like Florence--is worrying a little for fear the girls won'tquite make a hit! Clarence worries about Billy, I worry aboutClarence--"

"I worry about you!" said Doctor Gregory as she paused. 

"Of course you do, bless your heart!" Rachael laughed. "So here weare, the rich and fashionable and fortunate people of the world, having a cloudless good time!"

"You know, it's a shame to eat this way--ruin our dinners!" saidMrs. Moran, suddenly entering the conversation. "Stop flirtingwith Greg, Rachael, and give me some more tea. One lump, and onlyabout half a cup, dear. Tell me a good way to get thin, Greg!Agnes Chase says her doctor has a diet--you eat all you want, andyou get thin. Agnes says Lou has a friend who has taken off forty-eight pounds. Do you believe it, Greg? I'm too fat, you know--"

"You carry it well, Judy, " said Rachael, still a little shaken bythe abruptly closed conversation, as the doctor, with a consciousthrill, perceived. 

"Thank you, my dear, that's what they all say. But I'd just assoon somebody else should carry it for awhile!"

"Listen, Rachael, " said their hostess, coming up suddenly, andspeaking quickly and lightly, "Clarence is here. Where in the nameof everything sensible is Billy?"

"Clarence!" said Rachael, uncomfortable premonition clutching ather heart. 

"Yes; you come and talk to him, Rachael, " Mrs. Whittaker said, inthe same quick undertone. "He's all right, of course, but he'sjust a little fussy--"

"Oh, if he wouldn't DO these things!" Rachael said apprehensivelyas she rose. "I left him all comfortable--Joe Butler was coming into see him! It does EXASPERATE me so! However!"

"Of course it does, but we all know Clarence!" Mrs. Whittaker saidsoothingly. "He seems to have got it into his head that Billy--Yougo talk to him, Rachael, and I'll send her in. "

"Billy's doing no harm! What did he say?" Rachael askedimpatiently. 

"Oh, nothing definite, of course. But as soon as I said that Billywas here--he'd asked if she was--he said, 'Then I suppose Mr. Pickering is here, too!'"

"He's the one person in the world afraid of talk about Billy, yetif he starts it, he can blame no one but himself!" Rachael said, as she turned toward the adjoining room. An unexpected ordeal likethis always annoyed her. She was equal to it, of course; she couldsmooth Clarence's ruffled feelings, keep a serene front to theworld, and get her family safely home before the storm; she haddone it many times before. But it was so unnecessary! It was sounnecessary to exhibit the Breckenridge weaknesses before theobservant Emorys, before that unconscionable old gossip PeterPomeroy, and to the cool, pitying gaze of all her world!

She found Clarence the centre of a small group in the longdrawing-room. He and Frank Whittaker were drinking cocktails; theothers--Jeanette Vanderwall, Vera Villalonga, a flushed, excitablewoman older than Rachael, and Jimmy and Estelle Hoyt--had refusedthe drink, but were adding much noise and laughter to thenewcomer's welcome. 

"Hello, Clarence" Rachael said, appraising the situation rapidlyas she came up. "I would have waited for you if I had thought youwould come!"

"I just--just thought I would--look in, " Clarence said slowly butsteadily. "Didn't want to miss anything. You all seem to behaving--having a pretty good time!"

"It's been a lovely tea, " Rachael assured him enthusiastically. "But I'm just going. Billy's out here on the porch with a bunch ofyoungsters; I was just going after her. Don't let Frank give youany more of that stuff, Clancy. Stop it, Frank! It always giveshim a splitting headache!"

The tone was irreproachably casual and cheerful, but Clarencescowled at his wife significantly. His dignity, as he answered, was tremendous. 

"I can judge pretty well of what hurts me and what doesn't, thankyou, Rachael, " he said coldly, with a look ominous with warning. 

"That's just what you can't, dear, " Mrs. Whittaker, who had joinedthe group, said pleasantly. "Take that stuff away, Frank, anddon't be so silly! If Frank, " she added to the group, "hadn't beenat it all afternoon himself he wouldn't be such an idiot. "

"Greg says he'll take us home, Clarence, " Rachael said, in amatter-of-fact tone. "It's a shame to carry you off when you'vejust got here, but I'm going. "

"Where's Billy?" Clarence asked stubbornly. 

"Right here!" his wife answered reassuringly. And to her greatrelief Billy substantiated the statement by coming up to them, alittle uneasy, as her stepmother was, over her father'sappearance, yet confident that there was no real cause for ascene. To get him home as fast as possible, and let the trouble, whatever it might be, break there, was the thought in both theirminds. 

"Had enough tea, Monkey?" said Rachael pleasantly, aware of herhusband's sulphurous gaze, but carefully ignoring it. "Then sayday-day to Aunt Gertrude!"

"If Greg takes you home, send Alfred back with the runabout forme, " Billy suggested. 

"So that you can stay a little longer, eh?" said Clarence, in sougly a tone and with so leering a look for his daughter thatRachael's heart for a moment failed her. "That's a very nicelittle plan, my dear, but, as it happens, I came over in therunabout! I'm a fool, you know, " said Clarence sullenly. "I can behoodwinked and deceived and made a fool of--oh, sure! But there'sa limit! There's a limit, " he said in stupid anger to his wife. "And if I say that I don't like certain friendships for mydaughter, it means that _I_ DON'T LIKE CERTAIN FRIENDSHIPS FOR MYDAUGHTER, do you get me? That's clear enough, isn't it, Gertrude?"

"It's perfectly clear that you're acting like an idiot, Clancy, "Mrs. Whittaker said briskly. "Nobody's trying to hoodwink you; itisn't being done this year! You've got an awful katzenjammer fromthe Stokes' dinner, and all you men ought to be horsewhipped forletting yourselves in for such a party. Now if you and Rachaelwant to go home in the runabout, I'll send Billy straight afteryou with Kenneth or Kent--"

"I'll take Billy home, " Clarence said heavily. 

By this time Rachael was so exquisitely conscious of watching eyesand listening ears, so agonized over the realization that the fussClarence Breckenridge made at the Whittakers' over Joe Pickeringwould be handed down, a precious tradition, over every tea anddinner table for weeks to come, so miserably aware that a dozenpersons, at least, among the audience were finding in this scenewelcome confirmation of all the odds and ends of gossip that werefloating about concerning Billy, that she would have consentedblindly to any arrangement that might terminate the episode. 

It was not the first time that Clarence had made himselfridiculous and his family conspicuous when not quite himself. Atalmost every tea party and at every dance and dinner at least oneof the guests similarly distinguished himself. Rachael knew thatthere would be no blame in her friends' minds, but she hated theirlaughter. 

"Do that, then, " she agreed quickly. "Greg, will bring me!"

"By George, " said Clarence darkly to his hostess, "I'd be a longtime doing that to you, Gertrude! If you had a daughter--"

"My dear Clarence, your daughter is old enough to know her ownmind!" Mrs. Whittaker said impatiently. 

"And you're only making me conspicuous for something that'sENTIRELY in your own brain!" blazed Billy. As usual, her influenceover her father was instantaneous. 

"Because I love you, you know that, " he said meekly. "I--I may beTOO careful, Billy. But--"

"Nonsense!" said Billy in a nervous undertone close to tears. "Ifyou loved me you'd have some consideration for me!"

"When I say a thing, don't you say it's nonsense, " Clarence saidwith heavy fatherly dignity. "I'll tell you why--because I won'tstand for it!"

"Oh, aren't they hopeless!" Mrs. Whittaker asked with an indulgentlaugh and a glance for Rachael. 

"Well, I won't be taken home like a bad child!" flamed Billy. 

"I'd like to bump both your silly heads together, " Rachaelexclaimed, steering them toward the porch. "Yes, you bring the cararound, Kent, " she added to one of the onlookers in an urgentaside. "Come on, Bill? get in. Get in, Clarence! Don't be an utterfool--"

In another moment it was settled. Billy, looking fretty and sulky, said: "Good-bye, Aunt Gertrude! I'm sorry for this, but it's notmy fault!" Frank Whittaker almost bodily lifted his somewhatbefuddled guest into the car, the door of the runabout went homewith a bang. Billy snatched the wheel, and Clarence, with anattempt at a martyred expression, sank back in his seat. The carrocked out of sight, and was gone. 

Rachael, in silent dignity, turned about on the wide brick stepsto reenter the house. Where there had been a dozen interestedfaces a moment ago there was no one now except Gertrude Whittaker, whose expression betrayed her as tactfully divided betweenunconcern and sympathy, and Frank Whittaker, who was lookingthoughtfully at the cloudless spring sky as one anticipating achange of weather. 

Rachael caught Mrs. Whittaker's eye and shrugged her shoulderswearily. She began slowly to mount the steps. 

"It was nothing at all!" said the hostess cheerfully, addingimmediately, "You poor thing!"

"All in the day's work!" Rachael said, on a long sigh. And turningto the man who stood silently in the doorway she asked, with allthe confidence of a weary child, "Will you take me home, Greg?"

Her glance and the doctor's met. In the last soft, brilliant lightof the afternoon long shadows fell from the great trees nearby. Rachael's green and white gown was dappled with blots of goldenlight, her troubled, glowing eyes were of an almost unearthlybeauty, and her slender figure, against the background of colonialwhite paint and red brick, had all the tremulous, reedy grace of ayoung girl's figure. In the long look the two exchanged there wassome new element born of this wonderful hour of spring, and of thewoman's need, and the man's nearness. Both knew it, althoughRachael did not speak again, and, also in silence, the doctornodded, and went past her down the steps for his car. 

"Too bad!" Mrs. Whittaker said, coming back from a briefdisappearance beyond the doorway. "But such things will happen!It's too bad, Rachael, but what can one do? Are you going to bewarm enough? Sure? Don't give it another thought, dear, nobodynoticed it, anyway. And listen--any chance of a game tonight? Icould send over for you. Marian's with me, you know, and we couldget Peter or Greg for a fourth. "

"No chance at all, " Rachael said bitterly. She had always loved toplay bridge with Greg; under the circumstances it would be adelicious experience. She layed brilliantly, and Greg, when he wasmatched by partner and opponents, became absorbed in the game withabsolutely fanatic fervor. Rachael had a vision of her own whitehand spreading out the cards, of the nod and glance that saidclearly: "Great bidding, Rachael; we're as safe as a church!"

Clarence did not play bridge, he did not care for music, forbooks, for pictures. He played poker, and sometimes tennis, andoften golf; a selfish, solitary game of golf, in which he caredonly for his own play and his own score, and paid no attention toanyone else. 

Gregory's great car came round the drive. "Good-bye, Gertrude, "said Rachael with an unsmiling nod of farewell, and Mrs. Whittakerthought, as Elinor Vanderwall had thought the night before, thatshe had never seen Rachael look so serious before, and that thingsin the Breckenridge family must be coming rapidly to a crisis. 

Doctor Gregory, as the lovely Mrs. Breckenridge packed her stripedgreen and white ruffles trimly beside him, turned upon her a quickand affectionate smile. It asked no confidence, it expressed nosympathy, it was simply the satisfied glance of a man pleased withthe moment and with the company in which he found himself. ToRachael, overwrought, nervous, and ashamed, no mood could havebeen more delicately tuned. She sank back against the deepupholstery luxuriously, and drew a long breath, inhaling thedelicious air of early summer twilight. What a sweet, clean, solidsort of friend Greg was, thought Rachael, noticing the clever, well-groomed hands on the wheel, the kindly earnestness of thehandsome, sun-browned face, the little wrinkle between the darkeyes that meant that Doctor Gregory was thinking. 

"Straight home?" said he, giving her a smiling glance. 

"If you please, Greg, " Rachael answered, a sudden vision of theprobable state of affairs at home causing her to end the wordswith a quick sigh. 

Silence. They were running smoothly along the lovely country roadsthat were bowered so generously in fresh green that great featheryboughs of maple and locust brushed against the car. The birds werestill now, and the sunlight gone, although all the world was stillflooded with a soft golden light. The first dew had fallen, bringing forth from the dust a sweet and pungent odor. 

"Thinking about what I said to you last night?" asked the doctorsuddenly. 

"I am afraid I am--a little, " Rachael answered, meeting his quickside glance with another as fleet. 

"And what do you think about it?" he asked. For answer Rachaelonly sighed wearily, and for a while they went on in silence. Butwhen they had almost reached the Breckenridge gateway DoctorGregory spoke again. 

"Do you often have a scene like that one just now to get through?"

The color rushed into Rachael's face at his friendly, not toosympathetic, tone. She was still shaken from the encounter withClarence, and still thrilling to the memory of her talk withWarren Gregory last night, and it was with some new quality ofhesitation, almost of bewilderment, that she said:

"That--that wasn't anything unusual, Greg. "

Doctor Gregory stopped the car at the foot of her own steps, thenoise of the engine suddenly ceased, and they faced each other, their heads close together. 

"But since last night, " Rachael added, smiling after a moment'sthought, "I know I have a friend. I believe now, when the crashcomes, and the whole world begins to talk, that one person willnot misjudge me, and one person will not misunderstand. "

"Only that?" he asked. She raised her glorious eyes quickly, trying to smile, and it brought his heart to a quick stop to seethat they were brimming with tears. 

"Only that?" she echoed. "My dear Greg, after seven such years asI have had as Clarence's wife, that is not a small thing!"

Their hands were together now, and he felt hers cling suddenly asshe said:

"Don't--don't let me drag you into this, Greg!"

"This is what I want you to believe, " Warren Gregory told her, "that you are not his wife, you are nothing to him any more. Andsome day, some day, you're going to be happy again!"

A wonderful color flooded her face; she gave him a look half-frightened, half-won. Then with an almost inaudible "Good-night, "she was gone. 

Warren Gregory stood watching the slender figure mount the steps. She did not turn to nod him a fare-well, but vanished like ashadow into the soft shadows of the doorway. Yet he was enough alover to find consolation in that. Rachael Breckenridge was notflirting now, forces far greater than any she had ever known werethreatening the shallow waters of her life, and she might well betroubled and afraid. 

"She is not his wife any more, " Warren Gregory said, half aloud, as he turned back to his car. "From now on she belongs to me! SheSHALL be mine!"

CHAPTER V

From that day on a bright undercurrent made bearable the tryingmonotony of her life. Rachael did not at once recognize the rapidchange that began to take place in her own feelings, but she didrealize that Warren Gregory's attitude had altered everything inher world. He was flirting, of course, he was only half inearnest; but it was such delicious flirting, it was a half-earnestness so wonderfully satisfying and sweet. 

She did not see him every day, sometimes she did not see him fortwo or three days, but no twenty-four hours went by without amessage from him. A day or two after the troubled Sunday on whichhe had driven her home she stood silent a moment, in the lowerhall, one hand resting on the little box of damp, deliciousFreesia lilies, the fingers of the other twisting his card. Thelittle message scribbled on the card meant nothing to other eyes, just the two words "Good morning!" but in some subtle way theysignified to her a morning in a wider sense, a dawning of love andjoy and peace in her life. The next day they met--and howwonderful these casual meetings among a hundred gay, unseeingfolk, had suddenly become!--and on the following day he came totea with her, a little hour whose dramatic and emotional beautywas enhanced rather than spoiled for them both when Clarence andBilly and some friends came in to end it. 

On Thursday the doctor's man delivered into Mrs. Breckenridge'shand a package which proved to be a little book on Browning ofwhich he had spoken to her. On the fly leaf was written in thedonor's small, fine handwriting, "R. From G. The way WASCaponsacchi. " Rachael put the book on her bedside table, and woreJune colors all day for the giver's sake. Greg, she thought with afluttering heart, was certainly taking things with rather a highhand. Could it be possible, could it be POSSIBLE, that he caredfor a woman at last, and was she, Rachael Breckenridge, aneglected wife, a penniless dependent upon an unloving husband, that woman?

Half-forgotten emotions of girlhood began to stir within her; sheflushed, smiled, sighed at her own thoughts, she dreamed, and camebewildered out of her dreams, like a child. What Clarence did, what Carol did, mattered no longer; she, Rachael, again had thecentre of the stage. 

Weeks flew by. The question of summer plans arose: the Villalongaswanted all the Breckenridges in their Canadian camp for as much aspossible of July and August. Clarence regarded the project withthe embittered eye of utter boredom, Billy was far fromenthusiastic, Rachael made no comment. She stood, like a diver, ready for the chilling plunge from which she might never rise, yet, after which, there was one glorious chance: she might findherself swimming strongly to freedom. The sunny, safe meadows andthe warm, blue sky were there in sight, there was only that darkand menacing stretch of waters to breast, that black, smotheringdescent to endure. 

Now was the time. The pretence that was her married life must end, she must be free. In her thought she went no farther. Rachaeloutwardly was no better than the other women of her world;inwardly there was in her nature an instinctive niceness, a hatredfor what was coarse or base. For years the bond between her andClarence Breckenridge had been only an empty word. But it wasthere, none the less, and before she could put any new plan intodefinite form, even in her own heart, it must be broken. 

Many of the women she knew would not have been so fine. For morethan one of them no tie was sacred. And no principle as strong astheir own desire for pleasure. But she was different, as all theworld should see. No carefully chaperoned girl could be morecarefully guarded than Rachael would be guarded by herself untilthat time--the thought of it put her senses to utter rout--untilsuch time as she might put her hand boldly in Gregory's, and takeher place honorably by his side. 

The taste of freedom already began to intoxicate her even whileshe still went about Clarence's house, bore his moods in silence, and imparted to Billy that half-scornful, half-humorous advicethat alone seemed to penetrate the younger woman's shell of utterperversity. Mrs. Breckenridge, as usual followed by admiring andenvious and curious eyes, walked in a world of her own, entirelyoblivious of the persons and events about her, wrapped in abreathless dream too exquisitely bright to be real. 

It was a dream still so simple and vague that she was notconscious of wishing for Warren Gregory's presence, or of beingmuch happier when they were together than when she was deliciouslyalone with her thoughts of him. 

About a month after the Whittaker tea Rachael found herself seatedin the tile-floored tea-room at the country club with Florence. There had been others in the group, theoretically for tea, butthese were scattered now, and among the various bottles andglasses on the table there was no sign of a teacup. 

"So glad to see you alone a moment, Rachael--one never does, " saidFlorence. "Tell me, do you go to the Villalongas'?"

"Clarence and Billy will, I suppose, " the other woman said with anenigmatic smile. 

"But not you?"

"Perhaps; I don't know, Florence. " Rachael's serene eyes roved thesummer landscape contentedly. Mrs. Haviland looked a littlepuzzled. 

"Things are better, aren't they, dear?" she asked delicately. 

"Things?"

"Between you and Clarence, I mean. "

"Oh! Yes, perhaps they are. Changed, perhaps. "

"How do you mean changed?" Florence was instantly in arms. 

"Well, it couldn't go on that way forever, Florence, " Rachael saidpleasantly. 

Rendered profoundly uneasy by her tone, the other woman was silentfor a moment. 

"Perhaps it is just as well to make different plans for thesummer, " she said presently. "We all get on each other's nervessometimes, and change or separation does us a world of good. "

"Doctor Gregory! Doctor Gregory! At the telephone!" chanted a clubattendant, passing through the tea-room. 

"On the tennis courts, " Mrs. Breckenridge said, without turningher head. "You had better make it a message: explain that he'splaying!"

"I didn't see him go down, " remarked Florence, diverted. 

"His car came in about half an hour ago; he and Joe Butler wentdown to the courts without coming into the club at all, " Rachaelsaid. 

"I wonder what he's doing this summer?" mused the older lady. 

"I believe he's going to take his mother abroad with him, " saidthe well-informed Rachael. "She'll visit some friends in Englandand Ireland, and then join him. He's to do the Alps with someone, and meet her in Rome. "

"She tell you?" asked Mrs. Haviland, interested. 

"He did, " the other said briefly. 

"I didn't know she had any friends, " was Florence's next comment. "I don't see her visiting, somehow!"

"Oh, my dear. Old Catholic families with chapels in their houses, and nuns, and Mother Superiors!" Rachael's tone was light, but asshe spoke a cold premonition seized her heart. She fell silent. 

A moment later Charlotte, who had been hovering uncertainly in thedoorway of the room, came out to join her mother with a brightlyspontaneous air. 

"Oh, here you are, M'ma!" said Charlotte. "Are you ready to go?"

"Been having a nice time, dear?" her mother asked fondly. 

"Very, " Charlotte said. "I've been looking over old magazines inthe library--SO interesting!"

This literary enthusiasm struck no answering spark from thematron. 

"In the library!" said Florence quickly. "Why, I thought you werewith Charley!"

"Oh, no, M'ma, " answered Charlotte, with her little air that wasnot quite prim and not quite mincing, and that yet suggested both. "Charley left me just after you did; he had an engagement withStraker. " She reached for a macaroon, and ate it with a brightlydisengaged air, her eyes, behind their not unbecoming glasses, studying the golf links with absorbed interest. 

"Anyone else in the library?" Florence asked in a dissatisfiedtone. 

"No. I had it all to myself!" the girl answered pleasantly. 

"Why didn't you go down to the courts, dear? I think Papa isplaying!"

"I didn't think of it, M'ma, " said Charlotte lucidly. 

"What a dreadful age it is, " mused Rachael. "I wonder which phaseis hardest to deal with: Billy or poor little Carlotta?" Aloud, from the fulness of her own happiness, she said: "Suppose you walkdown to the courts with me, Infant, and we will see what's goingon?"

"If M'ma doesn't object, " said the dutiful daughter. 

"No, go along, " Florence said with vague discontent. "I've got todo some telephoning, anyway. "

Charlotte, being eighteen, could think of nothing but herself, andRachael, wrapped in her own romance, was amused, as they walkedalong, to see how different her display of youthful egotism wasfrom Billy's, and yet how typical of all adolescence. 

"Isn't it a wonderful afternoon, Aunt Rachael?" Charlotte said, asone in duty bound to be entertaining. "I do think they've pickedout such a charming site for the club!" And then, as Rachael didnot answer, being indeed content to drink in the last of the longsummer day in silence, Charlotte went on, with an air blended ofcomprehension and amusement: "Poor M'ma, she would so like me tobe a little, fluffy, empty-headed butterfly of a girl, and I knowI disappoint her! It isn't that I don't like boys, " pursuedCharlotte, the smooth and even stream of her words beginning toremind Rachael of Florence, "or that they don't like me; they'realways coming to me with their confidences and asking my advice, but it's just that I can't take them seriously. If a boy wants tokiss me, why, I say to him in perfect good faith, 'Why shouldn'tyou kiss me, John? When I'm fond of a person I always like to kisshim, and I'm sure I'm fond of you!'" Charlotte stopped for a shortlaugh full of relish. "Of course that takes the wind out of theirsails completely, " she went on, "and we have a good laugh over it, and are all the better friends! That is, " said Charlotte, thoroughly enjoying herself, "I treat my men friends exactly as Ido my girl friends. Do you think that's so extraordinary, AuntRachael? Because I can't do anything different, you know--really Ican't!"

"Just be natural--that's the best way, " said Rachael from thedepths of an icy boredom. 

"Of course, some day I shall marry, " the girl added in briskdecision, "because I love a home, and I love children, and I thinkI would be a good mother to children. But meanwhile, my books andmy friends mean a thousand times more to me than all these stupidboys! Why is it other girls are so crazy about boys, AuntRachael?" asked Charlotte, brightly sensible. "Of course I likethem, and all that, but I can't see the sense of all these notesand telephones and flirtations. I told Vivvie Sartoris that I wasafraid I knew all these boys too well; of course Jack and Kent andCharley are just like brothers! It all"--Charlotte smiled, signed, shook her disillusioned young head--"it all seems so awfully SILLYto me!" she said, and before Rachael could speak she had caughtbreath again and added laughingly: "Of course I know Billy doesn'tagree with me, and Billy has plenty of admiration of a sort, and Isuppose that satisfies her! But, in short, " finished Charlotte, giving Rachael's arm a squeeze as they came out upon the tenniscourts, "in short, you have an exacting little niece, Auntie dear, and I'm afraid the man who is going to make her happy must be outof the ordinary!"

Rachael sighed a long deep sigh, but no other answer was demanded, for the knot of onlookers welcomed them eagerly to the benchesbeside the courts, and even the players--Gardner Haviland, LouisChase, a fat young man in an irreproachable tennis costume; WarrenGregory and Joe Butler found time for a shouted "Hello!"

"How do you do, Kent?" said Charlotte to a young man who wassprawling on the sloping grass between the benches and the court. The young man blinked, sat up, and snatched off his hat. 

"Oh, how do you do, Charlotte? I didn't know you were here, " hesaid enthusiastically. "Some game--what?"

"It SEEMS to be, " said Charlotte with smiling, deep significance. Both young persons laughed heartily at this spirited exchange. Asilence fell. Then Mr. Parmalee turned back to watch the players, and Charlotte, who had seated herself, leaned back in her seat andgave a devoted attention to the game. 

Gregory came to Rachael the instant the game was over; she hadknown, since the first triumphant instant when his eyes fell uponher, that he would. She had seen the color rush under his brownskin, and, alone among all the onlookers, had known why Greg putthree balls into the net, and why he laughed so inexplicably as hedid so. And Rachael thought, for the first time, how sweet itwould be to be his wife, to sit here lovely in lavender stripesand loose white coat: Warren Gregory's wife. 

"You mustn't do that, " he said, sitting down on the bench besideher, and wiping his hot face. 

"Mustn't do what?" she asked. 

"Mustn't turn up suddenly when I don't expect you. It makes medizzy. Look here--what are you doing? I'm going up to the pool. I've got to get back into town to-night. When can I see you?"

"Why"--Rachael rose slowly, and slowly unfurled her parasol--"why, suppose we walk up together?"

They strolled away from the courts deliberately, openly. Severalpersons remembered weeks later that they went slowly, stopped nowand then. No one thought much of it at the time, for only a weeklater Doctor Gregory took his mother to England, and during thatweek it was ascertained that he and Mrs. Breckenridge saw eachother only once, and then were in the presence of his mother andof Carol Breckenridge and young Charles Gregory as well. There wasno tiniest peg for gossip to hang scandal upon, for where old Mrs. James Gregory was, decorum of an absolutely puritanic orderprevailed. 

Yet that stroll across the grass of the golf links was a milestonein Rachael Breckenridge's life, and every word that passed betweenGregory and herself was graven upon her heart for all time. Theaspect of laughter, of flirtation, was utterly absent to-day. Histone was crisp and serious, he spoke almost before they were outof the hearing of the group on the courts. 

"I've been wanting to talk to you, Rachael; in fact"--he laughedbriefly--"in fact, I am talking to you all day long, these days, "he said, "arguing and consulting and advising and planning. Butbefore we can talk, there's Clarence. What about Clarence?"

Something in the gravity of his expression as their eyes metimpressed Rachael as she had rarely been impressed in her lifebefore. He was in deadly earnest, he had planned his campaign, andhe must take the first step by clearing the way. How sure he was, how wonderfully, quietly certain of his course. 

"We are facing a miserable situation, but it's a commonplace one, after all, " said Warren Gregory, as she did not speak. "I--you cansee the position I'm in. I have to ask you to be free before I canmove. I can't go to Breckenridge's wife---"

The color burned in both their faces as they looked at each other. 

"It IS a miserable position, Greg, " Rachael said, after a moment'ssilence. "And although, as you say, it's commonplace enough, somehow I never thought before just what this sort of thinginvolves! However, the future must take care of itself. For thepresent there's only this. I'm going to leave Clarence. "

Warren Gregory drew a long breath. 

"He won't fight it?"

"I don't think he will. " Rachael frowned. "I think he'll bewilling to furnish--the evidence. Especially if he has no reasonto suspect that I have any other plans, " she added thoughtfully. 

"Then he mustn't suspect, " the doctor said instantly. 

"Nor anyone, " she finished, with a look of alarm. 

"Nor anyone, of course, " he repeated. 

"I don't know that I HAVE any other plans, " Rachael said sadly. "Iwon't think beyond that one thing. Our marriage has been an utterand absolute failure, we are both wretched. It must end. I hatethe fuss, of course--"

He was watching her closely, too keenly tuned to her mood todisquiet her with any hint of the lover's attitude now. 

"And just how will you go about it?" he asked. 

"I shall slip off to some quiet place, I think. I'll tell himbefore he goes away. My attorneys will handle the matter for me--it's a sickening business!" Rachael's beautiful face expresseddistaste. 

"It's done every day, " Warren Gregory said. 

"Of course divorce is not a new idea to me" Rachael presentlypursued. "But it is only in the last two or three days--for aweek, perhaps--that it has seemed to have that inevitable quality--that the-sooner-over-the-better sort of urgency. I wonder why Ididn't do it years ago. I shall"--she laughed sadly--"I shall hatemyself as a divorced woman, " she said. "It's a survival of someold instinct, I suppose, but it doesn't seem RIGHT. "

"It's done all the time, " was the doctor's simple defence. "Andoh, my dear, " he added, "you will know--and I will know--we can'tkeep knowing--"

She stopped short, her lovely face serious in the shade of herparasol, her dark-blue eyes burning with a sort of noble shame. 

"Greg!" she said quickly and breathlessly. "Please---Let's not--let's not say it. Let me feel, all this summer, that it wasn'tsaid. Let me feel that while I was living under one man's roof, and spending his money, that I didn't even THINK of another man. It's done all the time, you say, that's true. But I HATE it. Whether I leave Clarence, and make my own life under newconditions, and never remarry, or whether, in a year or two--but Iwon't think of that!" And to his surprise and concern, as shestopped short on the grassy path, the eyes that Rachael turnedtoward him were brimming with tears. "You s-see what a baby I ambecoming, Greg, " she said unsteadily. "It's all your doing, I'mafraid! I haven't cried for years--loneliness and injustice andunhappiness don't make me cry! But just lately I've known what itwas to dream of--of joy, Greg. And if that joy is ever reallycoming to us, I want to be worthy of it. I want to start RIGHTthis time. I want to spend the summer quietly somewhere, thinkingand reading. I'm going to give up cards and even cocktails. Yousmile, Greg, but I truly am! Just for this time, I mean. And it'scome to me, just lately, that I wouldn't leave Clarence if hereally needed me, or if it would make him unhappy. I'm going to bedifferent--everything SEEMS different already--"

"Don't you know why?" he said with his grave smile, as she paused. It was enchanting to him to see the color flood her face, to seeher shy eyes suddenly averted. She did not answer, and they walkedslowly toward the clubhouse steps. 

"There's only one thing more to say, " Warren Gregory said, arresting her for one more moment. "It's this: as soon as you'refree, I'm coming for you. You may not have made up your mind bythat time, Rachael. My mind will never change. "

Shaken beyond all control by his tone, Rachael did not even raiseher eyes. Her flush died away, leaving her face pale. He saw herbreast rise on a quick breath. 

"Will you write me?" he asked, after a moment. 

"Oh, yes, Greg!" she answered quickly, in a voice hardly above awhisper. "When do you go?"

"On Wednesday--a week from to-day, in fact. And that reminds me, Billy says you are coming into town early next week?"

"Monday, probably. " Rachael was coming back to the normal. "Sheneeds things for camp, and I've got a little shopping to do. "

"Then could you lunch with Mother? Little Charley'll be there: noone else. Bring Billy. Mother'd love it. You're a great favoritethere, you know. "

"I may not always be a favorite there, " Rachael said with a ruefulsmile. 

"Don't worry about Mother, " Warren Gregory said with a confidencethat in this moment of excitement and exhilaration he almost feltwas justified. "Mother's a dear!"

That was all their conversation. When they entered the clubhouseDoctor Gregory turned toward the swimming pool and Rachael wasinstantly drawn into a game of bridge. She played like a woman ina dream, was joined by Billy, went home in a dream, and presentlyfound herself and her husband fellow guests at a dreamlike dinner-party. 

Why not?--why not?--why not? The question drummed in head andheart day and night. Why not end bondage, and taste freedom? Whynot end unhappiness, and try joy? She had done her best to makeher first marriage a success, and she had failed. Why not, withall kindness, with all generous good wishes, end the longexperiment? Who, in all her wide range of acquaintances, wouldthink the less of her for the obviously sensible step? The worldrecognized divorce as an indispensable institution: one marriagein every twelve was dissolved. 

And remarriage, a brilliant second marriage, was universallyapproved. Even such a stern old judge as Warren's mother countedamong her acquaintances the divorced and remarried. To reappear, triumphant, beloved, beautiful, before one's old world--

But no--of this Rachael would not permit herself to think. Timealone could tell what her next step must be. The onlyconsideration now must be that, even if Warren Gregory had neverexisted, even if there were no other man than ClarenceBreckenridge in the world, she must take the step. Better poverty, and work, and obscurity, if need be, with freedom, than allClarence could offer her in this absurd and empty bondage. 

Once firmly decided, she began to chafe against the delays thatmade an immediate announcement of her intentions unwise. If athing was to be done, as well do it quickly, thought Rachael, asshe listened patiently to the vacillating decisions of Carol andher father in regard to the Villalonga camping plan. At one timeClarence completely abandoned the idea, throwing the watchful andsilent Rachael into utter consternation. Carol was alternatelybored by the plan and wearily interested in it. Theircharacteristic absorption in their own comfort was a greatadvantage to Rachael at this particular juncture; she had beenincluded in Mrs. Villalonga's invitation as a matter of course, but such was the life of the big, luxurious establishment known asthe "camp" that all three of the Breckenridges, and three more ofthem had there been so many, might easily have spent six weekstherein without crossing each other's paths more than once ortwice a week. It never occurred to either Carol or her father toquestion Rachael closely as to her pleasure in the matter. Theytook it for granted that she would be there if no pleasanterinvitation interfered exactly as they themselves would. 

An enormous income enabled the sprightly Mrs. Villalonga toconduct her midsummer residence in the Canadian forests upon ascale that may only be compared to a hotel. She usually askedabout one hundred friends to visit her for an indefinite time, andof this number perhaps half availed themselves of the privilege, drifting in upon her at any time, remaining only while the spiritmoved, and departing unceremoniously, perhaps, if the hostesschanced to be away at the moment, with no farewells at all, whenany pleasanter prospect offered. 

Mrs. Villalonga was a large, coarse-voiced woman, with a heart ofgold, and the facial characteristics that in certain unfortunatepersons suggest nothing so much as a horse. She sent a troop ofservants up to the woods every year, following them in a week ortwo with her first detachment of guests. She paid her chef sixthousand dollars a year, and would have paid more for a betterchef, if there had been one. She expected three formal meals everyday, including in their scope every delicacy that could beprocured at any city hotel, and also an indefinite number oflesser meals, to be served in tennis pavilion, or after cards atnight, or whenever a guest arrived. 

By the time she reached the camp everything must be complete foranother summer, awnings flapping gently outside the striped canvas"tents" that were really roomy cabins provided with shower bathsand wide piazzas. The great cement-walled swimming pool must becleaned, the courts rolled, the cars all in order, the boats andbath-houses in readiness. A miniature grocery and drug store mustbe established in the building especially designed for this use;the little laundry concealed far up in the woods must be operatingbriskly. 

Then, from the middle of June to the first of September, the campwas in full swing. There were dances and campfires and theatricalsand fancy-dress affairs innumerable. Ice and champagne andCalifornia peaches and avocados from Hawaii poured from thehousekeeping department in an unending stream; there were newtoothbrushes and new pajamas for the unexpected guest, there werenew bathing suits in boxes for the girls who had driven over fromTaramac House and who wanted a swim, there were new packs of cardsand new boxes of cigars, and there were maids--maids--maids to runfor these things when they were wanted, and carry them away whentheir brief use was over. 

Then it would be September, and everything would end as suddenlyas it began. The Villalongas would go to Europe, or to Newport, Vera loudly, joyously, insistently urging everyone to visit themthere if it were the latter. In November they would be in theirtown house with new paintings and new rugs to show their guests: aportrait of Vera, a rug stolen from a Sultan's palace. 

Everybody said that Vera Villalonga did this sort of thingextremely well; indeed she had no rival in her own particularfield. The weekly society journals depended upon her to supplythem with spectacular pictures of a Chinese ball every Novemberand a Micareme dance every spring; they sent photographers all theway up to her camp that their readers might not miss a yearlyglimpse of the way Mrs. Villalonga entertained. 

But Rachael, who had spent a portion of six summers with theVillalongas, found herself, in her newly analytical mood, wondering just who got any particular pleasure out of it all. Veraherself, perhaps. Certainly her husband, who would spend all histime playing poker and tennis, would have been as happy elsewhere. Her two sons, tall, dark young men, in connection with whosecharacters the world in general contented itself merely with theword "wild, " would be there only for a week or two at most. Billywould wait for Joe Pickering's letters, Clarence would drink, andwatch Billy. Little Mina Villalonga, who had a minor nervousailment, would wander about after Billy. The Parmalees would comeup for a visit, and the Morans would come. Jack Torrence, spoiledout of all reason, would promise a week and come for two days;Porter Pinckard would compromise upon a mere hour or two, charginginto the camp in his racing car, introducing hilarious friends, accepting a sandwich and a bottle of beer, and then tearing offagain. Straker Thomas, silent, mysterious, ill, would drift aboutfor a week or two; Peter Pomeroy would go up late in July, and beadored by everyone, and take charge of the theatricals. 

"The maids probably get any amount of fun out of it, " musedRachael. Vera was notably generous to her servants: a certain poolwas reserved for them, and their numbers formed a most congenialsociety every summer. "I don't believe I'll go to Vera's thisyear, " Mrs. Breckenridge said aloud to her husband andstepdaughter. 

"I'm not crazy about it, " Billy agreed fretfully. 

"Might as well, " was the man's enthusiastic contribution. 

"Oh, I'm GOING!" Billy said discontentedly. "But I don't see whyyou and Rachael have to go. "

"Don't you?" her father said significantly. 

"Joe Pickering's going to be in Texas this whole summer, if that'swhat you mean!" flamed Billy. 

"I'm glad to hear it, " Clarence commented. 

"Anyway, you might depend upon Vera to take absolute good care ofBill, " Rachael said soothingly. "It's time you both got away tosome cooler place, if you are going to fight so about nothing! Whydo you do it? Billy can't marry anyone for eleven months, and ifshe wants to marry the man in the moon then you can't stop her. Sothere you are!"

"And I'm capable of running my own affairs, " finished Billy with alook far from filial. 

"You only waste your breath arguing with Clarence when he's gotone of his headaches, " Rachael said to her stepdaughter an hour ortwo later when they were spinning smoothly into the city for theplanned shopping. "Of course he'll go to Vera's, and of courseyou'll go, too! Just don't tease him when he's all upset. "

"Well, what does he drink and smoke so much, and get this wayfor?" Billy demanded sullenly. 

"What does anybody do it for?" Rachael countered. And a secondlater her singing heart was with Gregory again. He did not do it!

She entered into Billy's purchasing perplexities with greatsympathy; a successful hat was found, several deliciouslyextravagant and fragile dresses for camping. 

"You're awfully decent about all this, Rachael. " Billy said once;"it must be a sweet life we lead you sometimes!"

Something in the girl's young glance touched Rachael strangely. They were in the car again now, going toward Mrs. Gregory'shandsome, old-fashioned house on Washington Square. Rachael wasinspired to seize the propitious second. 

"Listen, Bill, " she said, and paused. Billy eyed her curiously. Obtuse as she was, a certain change in Rachael had not entirelyescaped the younger woman. 

"Well?" she asked, on guard. 

"Well--" Rachael faltered. Motherly advice was not much in herline. "It's just this, Bill, " she resumed slowly, "when you thinkof marriage, don't think of just a few weeks or a few months;think of all the time. Think of other things than just--that sortof--love. Children, you know, and--and books, don't you know?Things that count. Be--I don't say be guided entirely by what yourfather and lots of other persons think, but be influenced by it!Realize that we have no motive but--but affection, in advising youto be sure. "

The stumbling, uncertain words were unlike Mrs. Breckenridge'susual certain flow of reasoning. But in spite of this, or becauseof it, Billy was somewhat impressed. 

"I had an aunt in California, " Rachael continued, "who cried, andgot whipped and locked up, and all the rest of it, and she carriedher point. But she was unhappy. . .. "

"You mean because Joe is divorced?" Billy asked in a somewhattroubled voice. 

The scarlet rushed to Rachael's face. 

"N--not entirely, " she answered in some confusion. 

"That is, you don't think divorced people ought to remarry, evenif the divorce is fair enough?" Billy pursued, determined to beclear. 

"Well, I suppose every case is different, Bill. "

"That's what you've always SAID!" Billy accused her vivaciously. "You said, time and time again, that if people can't live togetherin peace they OUGHT to separate, but that it was another thing ifthey married again!"

"Did I?" Rachael asked weakly, adding a moment later, with obviousrelief in her tone: "Here we are! It's only this, Bill, " shefinished, as they mounted the brownstone steps, "be sure. You cando anything, I suppose. Only be sure!"

Mrs. Gregory would be down in a few minutes, old Dennison said. Rachael murmured something amiable, and the two went into thedark, handsome parlors; the house was full of parlors; on bothsides of the hall stately, crowded rooms could be glimpsed throughopen doors. 

"Isn't it fierce?" Billy said with a helpless shrug. Rachaelsmiled and shook her head slowly in puzzled consent. "Don't yousuppose they ever AIR it?" pursued the younger woman in a lowtone. The air had a peculiarly close, dry smell. 

"It wouldn't seem so, " Rachael said, looking at the life-sizestatues of Moorish and Neopolitan girls, the mantel clockrepresenting a Dutch windmill, the mantel itself, of black marble, gilded and columned, with a mirror in a carved walnut framestretching ten feet above it, the beaded fire screen, thevoluminous window curtains of tasselled rep, and the ornate walnuttable across whose marble top a strip of lace had been laid. Everything was ugly and expensive and almost everything was old-fashioned, all the level surfaces of tables, mantel, and piano topwere filled with small articles, bits of ivory carving from China, leather boxes, majolica jars, photographs in heavy frames, enormous illustrated books, candlesticks, and odd teacups andtrays. 

Smiling down--how Rachael knew that smile, half-quizzical andhalf-tender--from a corner of the room was a beautiful oilportrait of Warren Gregory, the one really fine thing in the room. By some chance the painter had caught on his face the very lookwith which he might, in the flesh, have studied this dreadfulroom. Rachael felt a thrill go to her heels as she looked back atthe canvas, and far down in the deeps of her being the thoughtstirred that some day her hand might be the one to change allthis--to make the woodwork colonial white, and the paper rich withcolor, to have the black marble changed to creamy tiles, and therep curtains torn away. Then how charming the place would be whenvisitors came in from the hot street!

"A million apologies--all my fault!" said Doctor Gregory in thedoorway. His mother, in rustling black silk, was on his arm. Shehad given up her cane to-day to use the living support, and nolover could have wished to appear more charming in his lady's eyesthan did Warren Gregory appear to Rachael as he lowered the frailold figure to a chair and neglected his guests while he made hismother comfortable. 

"He would have you think, now, that I was the cause of the delay, "said the old lady in a sweet voice that betrayed curiously theweakness of the flesh and the strength of the spirit. "But Iassure you my beauty is no longer a matter of great importance tome!"

"So it was Greg who was curling his hair?" Rachael asked, with oneswift and eloquent glance for him before she drew a much-fringedhassock to his mother's knee and seated herself there with theconfidence of a captivating child. "I always thought he was rathervain! But let's not talk about him, we only make him worse. Tellme about yourself?"

Mrs. Gregory was a rather spirited old lady, and liked to fancy, with the pathetic complacency of the passing generation, that hersense of humor quite kept up with the times. Rachael knew herwell, and knew all her stories, but this only made her thepleasanter companion. She quickly carried the conversation intothe past, and was content to be a listener; indeed, with a hostessfar removed in type from herself it was the only safe role toplay. The conversation was full of pitfalls for this charming anddutiful worldling, and Rachael was too clever to risk a fall. 

She was afraid of the crippled little gentlewoman in the bigchair, and Warren Gregory was afraid, too. Some mysterious elementin her regard for them made luncheon an ordeal for them both, although Billy's healthy young eyes saw only an old woman, impotent and alone; the maids were respectful and pitying, andyoung Charles Gregory, who joined them at luncheon, Was obviouslyunimpressed by his grandmother's power, but was smitten red andinarticulate at the first glimpse of Billy. 

This youth, after silently disposing of several courses, finallyasked in a husky voice for Miss Charlotte Haviland, and relapsedinto silence again. Billy flirted youthfully with her host, Rachael devoted herself to the old lady. 

She had always been happy here, a marked favorite with old Mrs. Gregory to whom her audacious nonsense had always seemed a greatdelight before. But to-day she was conscious of a change, shecould not control the conversation with her usual sure touch, shefloundered and contradicted herself like a schoolgirl. One of herbrilliant stories fell rather flat because its humor was largelysupplied by an intoxicated man--"of course it was dreadful, butthen it was funny, too!" Rachael finished lamely. Another flashingaccount won from the old hostess the single words "On Sunday?"

"Well, yes. It was on Sunday. I am afraid we are absolute pagans;we don't always remember to go to church, by any means!" Rachaelbegan to feel that a cloud of midges were buzzing about her face. Every topic led her deeper into the quicksand. There was adefinite touch of resentment under the gracious manner in whichshe presently said her good-bye, and they were no sooner in themotor car than she exclaimed to Billy:

"Didn't Mrs. Gregory seem horribly cross to you to-day? She mademe feel as if I'd broken all the Commandments and was dancing onthe pieces!"

"What do you know about Charles asking for Charlotte?" was Billy'sonly answer. "Isn't he just the sort of mutt who would ask forCharlotte!"

"Isn't she quite lovely?" said Mrs. Gregory from over the fleecyyarn she was knitting, when the guests had gone. 

"Carol?" the doctor countered. 

"Yes, Carol, too. But I was thinking of Mrs. Breckenridge. Do yousee her very often, James?"

"Quite a bit. Do you mind my smoking?"

"I often wonder, " pursued the old lady innocently, "what such asweet, gay, lovely girl could see in a fellow like poor ClarenceBreckenridge!"

"Great marvel she doesn't throw him over!" Warren said casually. 

"It distresses me to hear you talk so recklessly, my son, " Mrs. Gregory said after a brief pause, "Lord, Mother, " her son presently observed impatiently, "is itreasonable to expect that because a girl like that makes a mistakewhen she is twenty or twenty-one, that she shall pay for it forthe rest of her life?"

"Unfortunately, we are not left in any doubt about it, " the oldlady said dryly. And as Warren was silent she went on withquavering vigor: "It is not for us to judge her husband'sinfirmities. She is his wife. "

"Oh, well, there's no use arguing it, " the man said pleasantlyafter a sulphurous interval. "Fortunately for her, most peopledon't feel as you do. "

"You surely don't think that _I_ originated this theory?" hismother asked quietly after a silence, during which her longneedles moved a little more swiftly than was natural. 

"I don't think anything about it. I KNOW that you're much, muchnarrower about such things than your religion or any religiongives you any right to be, " Warren asserted hotly. "It is nothingto me, but I hate this smug parcelling out of other people'saffairs, " he went on. "Mrs. Breckenridge is a very wonderful and amost unfortunate woman; her husband isn't fit to lace her shoes--"

"All that may be true, " his mother interrupted with someagitation. 

"All that may be true, you say! And yet if Rachael left him, andtried to find happiness somewhere else--"

"The law is not of MY making, James, " the old lady intervenedmildly, noting his use of the discussed woman's name with a pang. 

"But it IS of your making--you people who sit around and saywhat's respectable and what's not respectable! Who are you tojudge?"

"I try not to judge, " Mrs. Gregory said so simply that the man'sanger cooled in spite of himself. "And perhaps I am foolish, James, all mothers are. But you are the last of my four sons, andI am a widow in my old age, and I tremble for you. When a womanwith beauty as great as that confides in you, my child, when sheturns to you, your soul is in danger, and your mother sees it. Icannot--I cannot be silent--"

Rachael herself, an hour ago, had not used her youth and beautywith more definite design than was this other woman using her ageand infirmity now. Warren Gregory was almost as readily affected. 

"My dear Mother, " he said sensibly and charmingly, "don't thinkfor one instant that I do not appreciate your devotion to me. Whathas suddenly put into your head this concern about Mrs. Breckenridge, I can't imagine. I know that if she were ever in anytrouble or need you would be the first to defend her. She is in apeculiarly difficult position, and in a professional way I amsomewhat in her confidence, that's all!"

"I should think she could do something with Clarence, " the oldlady said, somewhat mollified. "Interest him in something new;lead him away from bad influences. "

"Clarence is rather a hopeless problem, " Warren Gregory said. Thetalk drifted away to other persons and affairs, but when theypresently parted, with great amiability on both sides, WarrenGregory knew that his mother's suspicions had in some mysteriousway been aroused, and old Mrs. Gregory, sitting alone in the heatof the afternoon, writhed in the grip of a definite apprehension. Absurd--absurd--to interpret that married woman's brightlyinnocent glances into a declaration of love, absurd to findpassion concealed in Warren's cheerfully hospitable manner. Butshe could not shake off the terrified conviction that it was so. 

"Mr. And Mrs. Theodore Moulton of England have rented for theseason the house of Mr. And Mrs. Clarence Breckenridge, atBelvedere Bay, " stated the social columns authoritatively. "Mr. Breckenridge and Miss Carol Breckenridge will leave at once forthe summer camp of Mrs. Booth Villalonga, at Elks Leap, where Mrs. Breckenridge will join them after spending a few weeks withfriends. "

Rachael saw the notice on the morning of the last day that she andClarence were together. In the afternoon Billy and Clarence wereto leave for the north, and Rachael was to go to Florence for aday or two. She had been unusually indefinite about her plans forthe summer, but in the general confusion of all plans this had notbeen noticed. She had superintended the packing and assorting andstoring of silver and linen, as a matter of course, and it waseasy to see that certain things indisputably her own went intocertain crates. Nobody questioned her authority, and Clarence andBilly paid no attention whatever to the stupid proceeding ofgetting the house in order for tenants. 

On this last morning she sat at the breakfast table studying thesetwo who had been her companions for seven years, and who suspectedso little that this companionship was not to last for anotherseven years, for an indefinite time. Billy was in a bad temperbecause her father was not taking Alfred and the car with them tothe camp, as he had done for the two previous years. Clarence, sullen as always under Billy's disapproval, was pretending to readhis paper. He had a severe headache this morning, his face lookedflushed and swollen. He was dreading the twenty-four hours in ahot train, even though the Bowditches, going up in their own carto their own camp, had offered the Breckenridges its comparativecomfort and coolness for the entire trip. 

"Makes me so sick, " grumbled Billy, who looked extremely pretty ina Chinese coat of blue and purple embroideries; "every time I wantto move I'll have to ask Aunt Vera if I may have a car! No fun atall!"

"Loads of horses and cars up there, my dear, " Rachael saidpacifically. She was quivering from head to foot with nervousexcitement; the next few hours were all-important to her. And, under the pressure of her own great emotions, Billy seemed onlyrather pitiful and young to-day, and even Clarence less aconscious tyrant, and more a blundering boy, than he had seemed. She bore them no ill will after these seven hard years; indeed agreat peace and kindliness pervaded her spirit and softened hermanner toward them both. Her marriage had been a greatdisappointment, composed of a thousand small disappointments, butshe was surprised to find that some intangible and elementaryemotion was about to make this parting strangely hard. 

"Yes, but it's not the same thing, " Billy raged. Rachael began alow-voiced reassurance to which the younger woman listenedreluctantly, scowling over her omelette, and interposing anoccasional protest. 

"Oh, yap--yap--yap! My God, I do get tired of hearing you two goon and on and on!" Clarence presently burst out angrily. "If youdon't want to go, Billy, say so. I'm sick of the whole thing, anyway!"

"You know very well I never wanted to go, " Billy answered. Andbecause, being now committed to the Villalonga visit, sheperversely dreaded it, she pursued aggrievedly, "I'd EVER so muchrather have gone to California, Dad!"

How sure the youngster was of her power, Rachael thought, watchinghim instantly soften under his daughter's skilful touch. 

"For five cents, " he said eagerly, "I'd wire Vera, and you and I'dbeat it to Santa Barbara! What do you say?"

"And if Rachael promised to be awfully good, she could come, too!"Billy laughed. But the girl's gay patronage was never again to beextended to Rachael Breckenridge. 

"You couldn't disappoint Vera now, " she protested. 

"Oh, Lord! make some objections!" Clarence growled. 

"My dear boy, it's nothing to me, whatever you do, " Rachael saidquickly. "But Vera Villalonga is a very important friend for Bill. There's no sense in antagonizing her--"

"No, I suppose there isn't, " Billy said slowly. "But I wish she'dnot ask us every summer. I suppose we shall be doing this for therest of our lives!"

She trailed slowly from the room, and Clarence took one or twofretful glances at his paper. 

"Gosh, how you do love to spoil things!" he said bitterly to hiswife in a sudden burst. 

Rachael did not answer. She rose after a few moments, and carriedher letters into the adjoining room. When Clarence presentlypassed the door she called him in. 

"Now or never--now or never!" said Rachael's fast-beating heart. She was pale and breathing quickly as he came in. But Clarence, sick and headachy, did not notice these signs of strong emotion. 

"Clarence, I need some money, " Rachael said simply. 

"What for?" he asked unencouragingly. 

The color came into his wife's face. She did not ask often formoney, although he was rich, and she had been his wife for sevenyears. It was a continual humiliation to Rachael that she must askhim at all for the little actual money she spent, and tell himwhat she did with it when she got it. Clarence might lose moremoney at poker in a single night than Rachael touched in a month;it had come to him without effort, and of the two, she was the onewho made a real effort to hold the home together. Yet she was apensioner on his bounty, obliged to wait for the propitious moodand moment. Under her hand at this moment was Mary Moulton's checkfor one thousand dollars, more than she had ever had at one timein her life. She could not touch it, but Clarence would turn itinto bills, and stuff them carelessly into his pocket, to bescattered in the next week or two wherever his idle fancy saw fit. 

"Why, for living, and travelling expenses, " she answered, withwhat dignity she could muster. 

"Thought you had some money, " he grumbled in evident distaste. 

"Come in here a moment, " Rachael said in a voice that rather tohis surprise he obeyed. "Sit down there, " she went on, andClarence, staring at her a little stupidly, duly seated himself. His wife twisted about in her desk chair so that she could rest anarm upon the back of it, and faced him seriously across that arm. 

"Clarence, " said she, conscious of a certain dryness in her mouth, and a sick quivering and weakness through-out her whole body, "Iwant to end this. "

"What?" asked Clarence, puzzled and dull, as she paused. 

"I want to be free, " Rachael said, stumbling awkwardly over thephrase that sounded so artificial and dramatic. They looked ateach other, Clarence's bewildered look slowly changing to one ofcomprehension under his wife's significant expression. There was asilence. 

"Well?" Clarence said, ending it with an indifferent shrug. 

"Our marriage has been a farce for years--almost from thebeginning, " Rachael asserted eagerly. "You know it, and I know it--everyone does. You're not happy, and I'm wretched. I'm sick ofexcuses, and pretending, and prevaricating. There isn't a thing inthe world we feel alike about; our life has become an absolutesham. It isn't as if I could have any real influence over you--yougo your way, and do as you please, and I take the consequences. Irealize now that every word I say jars on you. Why, sometimes whenyou come into a room and find me there I can tell by theexpression on your face that you're angry just at that! I've toomuch self-respect, I've too much pride, to go on this way. Youknow how I hate divorce--no woman in the world hates it more--buttell me, honestly, what do we gain by keeping up a life like this?I used to be happy and confident and full of energy a few yearsago; now I'm bored all the time. What's the use, what's the use--that's the way I feel about everything--"

"You're not any more tired of it than I am!" Clarence interruptedsullenly. 

"Then why keep it up?" she asked urgently. "You've Billy, and yourclubs, and your car, to fill your time. There'll be a fuss, ofcourse, and I hate that, but we'll both be away. We've given it afair trial, but we simply aren't meant for each other. Goodheavens! it isn't as if we were the first man and woman who--"

"Don't talk as if I were opposing you, " Clarence said with a wearyfrown. 

Rachael, snubbed, instantly fell silent. 

"I've got my side in all this dissatisfied business, too, " the manpresently said with unsteady dignity. "You never cared a damn forme, or what became of me! I've had you ding-donging your troublesat me day and night; it never occurs to you what I'm up against. "He looked at his watch. "You want some money?" he asked. 

"If you please, " Rachael answered, scarlet-cheeked. 

"Well, I can write a check--" he began. 

"Here's this check of Mary Moulton's for July, " Rachael said, nervously adding: "She wants to pay month by month, because Ithink she hopes you'll rent after August. I believe she'd keep theplace indefinitely, on account of being near her mother, and forthe boys. "

Clarence took the check, and, hardly glancing at it, scrawled hisslovenly "C. L. Breckenridge" across the back with a gold-mountedfountain pen. Rachael, whose face was burning, received it backfrom his hand with a husky "Thank you. You'll have to furnish thegrounds, I presume--there will be a referee--nothing need get outbeyond the fact that I am the complainant. You--won't contest?You--won't oppose anything?" She hated herself for the question, but it had to be asked. 

"Nope, " the man said impatiently. 

"And"--Rachael hesitated--"and you won't say anything, Clarence, "she suggested, "because the papers will get hold of it fastenough!"

"You can't tell me anything about that, " he said sullenly. Thenthere came a silence. Rachael, looking at him, wished that shecould hate him a little more, wished that his neglects and faultshad made a little deeper impression. For a minute or two neitherspoke. Then Clarence got up and left the room, and Rachael satstill, the little slip held lightly between her fingers. The colorebbed slowly from her face, her heart resumed its normal beat, moments went by, the little clock on her desk ticked on and on. Itwas all over; she was free. She felt strangely shaken and cold, and desolately lonely. 

He loved her as little as she loved him. They had never neededeach other, yet there was in this severance of the bond betweenthem a strange and unexpected pain. It was as if Rachael's heartyearned over the wasted years, the love and happiness that mighthave been. Not even the thought of Warren Gregory seemed warm orreal to-day; a great void surrounded her spirit; she felt achilled weariness with the world, with all men--she was sick oflife. 

On the following day she gave Florence a hint of the situation. Itwas only fair to warn the important, bustling matron a trifle inadvance of the rest of the world. Rachael had had a long night'ssleep; she already began to feel deliciously young and free. Shewas to spend a few nights at the Havilands', and the next weeksupposedly go to the Princes' at Bar Harbor; really she planned todisappear for a time from her world. She must go up to town for aconsultation with her lawyer, and then, when the storm broke, shewould slip away to little Quaker Bridge, the tiny village far downon Long Island upon which, quite by chance, she had stumbled twoyears before. No one would recognize her there, no one of her oldworld could find her, and there for a month or two she could walkand bathe and dream in wonderful solitude. Then--then Greg wouldbe home again. 

"I want to tell you something, Florence, " Rachael said to hersister-in-law when she was stretched upon the wide couch inFlorence's room, watching with the placidity of a good baby thatlady's process of dressing for an afternoon of bridge, or ratherthe operations with cold cream, rubber face brush, hair tonic, eyebrow stick, powder, rouge, and lip paste that preceded theprocess of dressing. Mrs. Haviland, even with this assistance, would never be beautiful; in justice it must be admitted that shenever thought herself beautiful. But she thought rouge and powderand paste improved her appearance, and if through fatigue or hasteshe was ever led to omit any or all of these embellishments, shepresented herself to the eyes of her family and friends with agenuine sensation of guilt. Perhaps three hours out of all herdays were spent in some such occupation; between bathing, manicuring, hair-dressing, and intervals with her dressmaker andher corset woman it is improbable that the subject of herappearance was long out of the lady's mind. Yet she was not vain, nor was she particularly well satisfied with herself when it wasdone. That about one-fifth of her waking time--something more thantwo months out of the year--was spent in an unprofitable effort tomake herself, not beautiful nor attractive, but something only alittle nearer than was natural to a vague standard of beauty andattractiveness, never occurred, and never would occur, to FlorenceHaviland. 

"What is it?" she asked now sharply, pausing with one eyebrowbeautifully pencilled and the other less definite than ever bycontrast. 

"I don't suppose it will surprise you to hear that Clarence and Ihave decided to try a change, " Rachael said slowly. 

"How do you mean a change?" the other woman said, instantly alertand suspicious. 

"The usual thing, " Rachael smiled. 

"What madness has got hold of that boy now?" his sister exclaimedaghast. 

"It's not entirely Clarence, " Rachael explained with a touch ofpride. 

"Well, then, YOU'RE mad!" the older woman said shortly. 

"Not necessarily, my dear, " Rachael answered, resolutely serene. 

"Go talk to someone who's been through it, " Florence warned her. "You don't know what it is! It's bad enough for him, but it'ssimple suicide for you!"

"Well, I wanted you to hear it from me, " Rachael submitted mildly. 

"Do you mean to say you've decided, seriously, to do it?"

"Very seriously, I assure you!"

"How do you propose to do it?" Florence asked after a pause, during which she stared with growing discomfort at her sister-in-law. 

"The way other people do it, " Rachael said with assumed lightness. "Clarence agrees. There will be evidence. "

Mrs. Haviland flushed. 

"You think that's fair to Clarence?" she asked presently. 

"I think that in any question of fairness between Clarence and methe balance is decidedly in my favor!" Rachael said crisply. "Personally, I shall have nothing to do with it, and Clarence verylittle. Charlie Sturgis will represent me. I suppose Coates andCrandall will take care of Clarence--I don't know. That's allthere is to it!"

Her placid gaze roved about the ceiling. Mrs. Haviland gazed ather in silence. 

"Rachael, " she said desperately, "will you TALK to someone--willyou talk to Gardner?"

"Why should I?" Rachael sat up on the couch, the loosened mass ofher beautiful hair falling about her shoulders. "What has Gardneror anyone else to do with it? It's Clarence's business, and mybusiness, and it concerns nobody else!" she said warmly. "You lookon from the outside. I've borne it for seven years! I'm young, I'monly twenty-eight, and what is my life? Keeping house for a manwho insults me, and ignores me, who puts me second to hisdaughter, and has put me second since our wedding day--makingexcuses for him to his friends, giving up what I want to do, neverknowing from day to day what his mood will be, never having onecent of money to call my own! I tell you there are days and dayswhen I'm too sick at heart to read, too sick at heart to think!Last summer, for instance, when we were down at Easthampton withthe Parmalees, when everyone was so wild over bathing, and tennis, and dancing, Clarence wasn't sober ONE MOMENT of the time, notone! One night, when we were dancing--but I won't go into it!"

"I know, " Florence said hastily, rather frightened at thismagnificent fury. "I know, dear, it's too bad--it's dreadful--it'sa great shame. But men are like that! Now Gardner--"

"All men aren't like that! Gardner does that sort of thing now andthen, I know, " Rachael rushed on, "but Gardner is always sorry. Gardner takes his place as a man of dignity in the world. I amnothing to Clarence; I have never been to him one-tenth of whatBilly is! I have borne it, and borne it, and now I just can't--bear it--any longer!"

And Rachael, to her own surprise and disgust, burst into bittercrying, and, stammering some incoherency about an aching head, shewent to her own room and flung herself across the bed. Thesuppressed excitement of the last few days found relief in a longfit of sobbing; Florence did not dare go near her. The older womantried to persuade herself that the resentment and bitterness ofthis unusual mood would be washed away, and that Rachael, after anap and a bath, would feel more like herself, but nevertheless shewent off to her game in a rather worried frame of mind, and gavebut an imperfect attention to the question of hearts or lilies. 

Rachael, heartily ashamed of what she would have termed herschoolgirlish display of emotion, came slowly to herself, dozedover a magazine, plunged into a cold bath, and at four o'clockdressed herself exquisitely for Mrs. Whittaker's informal dinner. Glowing like a rose in her artfully simple gown of pink and whitechecks, she went downstairs. 

Florence had come in late, bearing a beautiful bit of pottery, thefirst prize, and was again in the throes of dressing, but Gardnerwas downstairs restlessly wandering about the dimly lighted roomsand halls. He was fond of Rachael, and as they walked up and downthe lawn together he tried, in a blunt and clumsy way, to show herhis sympathy. 

"Floss tells me you're about at the end of your rope--what?" saidGardner. "Clarence is the limit, of course, but don't be too muchin a hurry, old girl. We'd be--we'd be awfully sorry to have youcome to a smash, don't you know--now!"

Thus Gardner. Rachael gave him a glimmering smile in the earlydusk. 

"Not much fun for me, Gardner, " she said gravely. 

"Sure it's not, " Gardner answered, clearing his throattremendously. Neither spoke again until Florence came down, butlater, in all honesty, he told his wife that he had pitched intoRachael no end, and she had agreed to go slow. 

Florence, however, was not satisfied with so brief a campaign. Sheand Rachael did not speak of the topic again until the lastafternoon of Rachael's stay. Then the visitor, coming innocentlydownstairs at tea time, was a little confused to see that besidesMrs. Bowditch and her oldest daughter, and old Mrs. Torrence, theBishop and Mrs. Thomas were calling. Instantly she suspected atrap. 

"Rachael, dear, " Florence said sweetly, when the greetings wereover, "will you take the bishop down to look at the sundial? I'vebeen boasting about it. "

"You sound like a play, Florence, " her sister-in-law said with alittle nervous laugh. "'Exit Rachael and Bishop, L. ' Surely you'veseen the sundial, Bishop?"

"I had such a brief glimpse of it on the day of the tea, " BishopThomas said pleasantly, "that I feel as if I must have anotherlook at that inscription!" Smiling and benign, rather impressivein his clerical black, the clergyman got to his feet, and turnedan inviting smile to Rachael. 

"Shall I take you down, Bishop?" Charlotte asked, her eagerness tobe socially useful fading into sick apprehension at her mother'slook. 

"No, I'll go!" Rachael ended the little scene by catching up herwide hat. "Come on, Bishop, " she said courageously, adding, assoon as they were out of hearing, "and if you're going to bedreadful, begin this moment!"

"And why, pray, should I be dreadful?" the bishop asked, smilingreproachfully. "Am I usually so dreadful? I don't believe it wouldbe possible, among these lovely roses"--he drew in a great breathof the sweet afternoon air--"and with such a wonderful sunsettelling us to lift up our hearts. " And sauntering contentedlyalong, the bishop gave her an encouraging smile, but as Rachaelcontinued to walk beside him without raising her eyes, presentlyhe added, whimsically: "Would it be dreadful, Mrs. Breckenridge, if one saw a heedless little child--oh, a sweet and dear, but aheedless little child--going too near the cliffs--would it bedreadful to say: 'Look out, little child! There's a terrible fallthere, and the water's cold and dark. Be careful!'" The bishop satdown on the carved stone bench that had been set in the circle ofshrubs that surrounded the sundial, and Rachael sat down, too. 

"Well, what about the child?" he persisted, when there had been asilence. 

Rachael raised sombre eyes, her breast rose on a long sigh. 

"I am not a child, " she said slowly. 

"Aren't we all children?" asked the bishop, mildly triumphant. 

Rachael, sitting there in Florence's garden, looking down at thewhite roofs of the village and the smooth sheet of blue that wasBelvedere Bay, felt a burning resentment enter her heart. How calmand smug and sure of themselves they were, these bishops andFlorences and old lady Gregorys! How easy for them to advise andadmonish, to bottle her up with their little laws and platitudes, these good people married to other good people, and wrapped in thewarmth of mutual approval and admiration! The bishop was talking--

"Children, yes, the best and wisest of us is no more than that, "he was saying dreamily, "and we must bear and forbear with eachother. Not easy? Of course it's not easy! But no cross no crown, you know. I have known Clarence a great many years--"

"I am sorry to hurt Florence--God knows I'm sorry for the wholething!" Rachael said, "but you must admit that I am the best judgeof this matter. I've borne it long enough. My mind is made up. Youand I have always been good friends, Bishop Thomas"--she laid abeautiful hand impulsively on his arm--"and you know that what yousay has weight with me. But believe me, I'm not jumping hastilyinto this: it's come after long, serious thought. Clarence wantsto be free as well--"

"Clarence does?" the clergyman asked, with a disapproving shake ofhis head. 

"He has said so, " Rachael answered briefly. 

"And what will your life be after this, my child?"

To this she responded merely with a shrug. Perhaps the bishopsuspected that such a calm confidence in the future indicated moreor less definite plans, for he gave her a shrewd and searchinglook, but there was nothing to be said. The lovely lady continuedto stare at the soft turf with unsmiling eyes, and the clergymancould only watch her in puzzled silence. 

"After all, " Rachael said presently, giving him a rueful glance, "what are the statistics? One marriage in twelve fails--failsopenly, I mean--for of course there are hundreds that don't getthat far. Sixty thousand last year!"

"If those ARE the statistics, " said the bishop warmly, "it is adisgrace to a Christian country!"

"But you don't call this a Christian country?" Rachael saidperversely. 

"It is SUPPOSEDLY so, " the clergyman asserted. 

"Supposedly Christian, " she mused, "and yet one marriage out ofevery twelve ends in divorce, and you Christians--well, you don'tCUT us! We may not keep holy the Sabbath day, we may not honor ourfathers and mothers, we may envy our neighbor's goods, yes, andhis wife, if we like, but still--you don't refuse to come to ourhouses!"

"I don't know you in this mood, " said Bishop Thomas coldly. 

"Call it Neroism, or Commonsensism, or Modernism, or anything youlike, " Rachael said with sudden fire, "but while you go on callingwhat you profess Christianity, Bishop, you simply subscribe to anuntruth. You know what our lives are, myself and Florence andGardner and Clarence; is there a Commandment we don't break allday long and every day? Do we give our coats away, do we possessneither silver nor gold in our purses, do we love our neighbors?Why don't you denounce us? Why don't you shun the women in yourparish who won't have children as murderers? Why don't you brandsome of the men who come to your church--men whose businessmethods you know, and I know, and all the world knows--asthieves!"

"And what would my branding them as murderers and thieves avail?"asked the bishop, actually a little pale now, and rising to faceher as she rose. "Are we to judge our fellowmen?"

"I'm not, " Rachael said, suddenly weary, "but I should think youmight. It would be at least refreshing to have you, or someone, demonstrate what Christianity is. It would be good for our souls. Instead, " she added bitterly, "instead, you select one littlething here, and one little thing there, and putter, and tinker, and temporize, and gloss over, and build big churches, withmortgages and taxes and insurance to pay, in the name ofChristianity! If I were little Annie Smith, down in the villagehere, I could get a divorce for twenty-five dollars, and you wouldnever hear of it. But Clarence Breckenridge is a millionaire, andthe Breckenridges have gone to your church for a hundred years, and so it's a scandal that must be averted if possible!"

"The church frowns on divorce, " said the bishop sternly. "At thevery present moment the House of Bishops, to which I have thedistinguished honor to belong, is considering taking a decidedstand in the matter. Divorce is a sin--a sin against one of God'sinstitutions. But when I find a lady in this mood, " he continued, with a sort of magnificent forbearance, "I never attempt to combather views, no matter how extraordinarily jumbled and--and childishthey are. As a clergyman, and as an old friend, I am grieved whenI see a hasty and an undisciplined nature about to do that whichwill wreck its own happiness, but I can only give a friendlywarning, and pass on. I do not propose to defend the institutionto which I have dedicated my life before you or before anyone. Shall we go back to the house?"

"Perhaps we had better, " Rachael agreed. And as they went slowlyalong the wide brick walk she added in a softened tone: "I doappreciate your affectionate interest in--in us, Bishop. But--butit does exasperate me, when so many strange things are done in thename of Christianity, to have--well, Florence for instance--calmlydecreeing that just these other certain things shall NOT be done!"

"Then, because we can't all be perfect, it would be better not totry to be good at all?" the bishop asked, restored to equanimityby what he chose to consider an unqualified apology, and resuminghis favorite attitude of benignant adviser. 

Rachael sighed wearily in the depth of her soul. She knew thatkindly admonitory tone, that complacent misconception of hermeaning. She said to herself that in a moment he would begin toask himself questions, and answer them himself. 

"We are not perfect ourselves, " said the clergyman benevolently, "yet we expect perfection in others. Before we will even changeour own lives we like to look around and see what other people aredoing. Perfectly natural? Of course it's perfectly natural, but atthe same time it's one of the things we must fight. I shall haveto tell you a little story of our Rose, as I sometimes tell someof my boys at the College of Divinity, " continued the good man. Rose, an exemplary unmarried woman of thirty, was the bishop'sdaughter. "Rose, " resumed her father, "wanted to study the violinwhen she was about twelve, and her peculiar old pater decided thatfirst she must learn to cook. Her mother quite agreed with me, andthe young lady was accordingly taken out to the kitchen andintroduced to some pots and pans. I also got her some book, I'veforgotten its name--her mother would remember; 'Complete Manual ofCookery'--something of that sort. A day or two later I asked hermother how the cooking went. 'Oh, ' she said, 'Rose has beenreading that book, and she knows more than all the rest of us!'"

Rachael laughed generously. They had reached the house again now, and Florence, glancing eagerly toward them, was charmed to seeboth smiling. She felt that the bishop must have influencedRachael, and indeed the clergyman himself was sure that her moodwas softer, and found opportunity before he departed to say to hishostess in a low tone that he fancied that they would hear no moreof the whole miserable business. 

"Oh, Bishop, how wonderful of you!" said Florence thankfully. 

CHAPTER VI

Two weeks later the news of the Breckenridge divorce burst like abomb in the social sky. Immediately pictures of the lovely wife, of Clarence, of the town house and the country house began toflood the evening papers, and even the morning journals found roomfor a column or two of the affair on inside pages. Clarence wastracked to his mountain retreat, and as much as possible was madeof his refusal to be interviewed. Mrs. Breckenridge was nowhere tobe found. 

The cold wind of publicity could not indeed reach her in the quietlanes and along the sandy shore of Quaker Bridge. Rachael, knownto everyone but her kind old landlady as "Mrs. Prescott, " couldeven glance interestedly at the papers now and then. Her identity, in three long and peaceful months, was not even so much assuspected. She did not mind the plain country table, theinconvenient old farmhouse; she loved her new solitude. Unquestioned, she dreamed through the idle days, reading, thinking, sleeping like a child. She spent long hours on theseashore watching the lazy, punctual flow and tumble of the wavesthat were never hurried, never delayed; her eyes followed theflashing wings of the gulls, the even, steady upward beat ofstrong pinions, the downward drifting through blue air that was ofall motion the most perfect. 

And sometimes in those hours it seemed to Rachael that she was nomore in the great scheme of things than one of these myriad gulls, than one of the grains of sand through which she ran her white, unringed fingers. Clarence was a dream, Belvedere Bay was a dream;it was all a hazy, dim memory now: the cards and the cocktails, the dancing and tennis, the powder and lip-red in hot rooms andabout glittering dinner tables. What a hurry and bustle and rushit all was--for nothing. The only actualities were the white sandand the cool green water, and the summer sun beating down warmlyupon her bare head. 

She awakened every morning in a large, bright, bare room whosethree big windows looked into rustling maple boughs. The steadyrushing of surf could be heard just beyond the maples. Sometimes asoft fog wrapped the trees and the lawn in its pale folds, and thebell down at the lighthouse ding-donged through the whole warm, silent morning, but more often there was sunshine, and Rachaeltook her book to the beach, got into her stiff, dry bathing suit, in a small, hot bathhouse furnished only by a plank bench and afew rusty nails, and plunged into the delicious breakers she lovedso well. Busy babies, digging on the beach, befriended her, andshe grew to love their sudden tears and more sudden laughter, their stammered confidences, and the touch of their warm, sandylittle hands. She became an adept at pinning up their tiny baggingundergarments, and at disentangling hat elastics from the softhair at the back of moist little necks. If a mother occasionallyshowed signs of friendliness, Rachael accepted the overturepleasantly, but managed to wander next day to some other part ofthe beach, and so evade the definite beginning of a friendship. 

The warm sunshine, flavored by the salty sea, soaked into her verybones. Everything about Quaker Bridge was bare, and worn, andclean; nothing was crowded, or hurried, or false. Barren dunes, and white, bleaching sand, colorless little houses facing the elm-lined main street, colorless planks outlining the road to thewater; the monotonous austerity, the pure severity of the littleocean village was full of satisfying charm for her. If she climbeda sandy rise beyond Mrs. Dimmick's cottage, and faced the north, she could see the white roadway, winding down to Clark's Bar, where the ocean fretted year after year to free the waters of thebay only twelve feet away. Beyond on the slope, was the villageknown as Clark's Hills, a smother of great trees with a weather-whipped spire and an occasional bit of roof or fence in evidence, to show the habitation of man. 

In other directions, facing east or west or south, there wasnothing but the sand, and the coarse straggling bushes that rootedin the sand, and the clear blue dome of the sky. Rachael, whoselife had been too crowded, gloried in the honey-scented emptinessof the sand hills, the measureless, heaving surface of the ocean, the dizzying breadth and space in which, an infinitesimal speck, she moved. 

She had sensibly taken her landlady, old Mrs. Dimmick, into herconfidence, and pleased to be part of the little intrigue, andperhaps pleased as well to rent her two best rooms to thischarming stranger, the old lady protected the secret gallantly. Itwas all much more simple than Rachael had feared it would be. Nobody questioned her, nobody indeed paid attention to her; shewandered about in a blissful isolation as good for her tired soulas was the primitive life she led for her tired body. 

Yet every one of the idle days left its mark upon her spirit;gradually a great many things that had seemed worth while in theold life showed their true and petty and sordid natures now;gradually the purifying waters of solitude washed her soul clean. She began to plan for the future--a future so different from thecrowded and hurried past!

Warren Gregory's letters came regularly, postmarked London, Paris, Rome. They were utterly and wholly satisfying to Rachael, and theywent far to make these days the happiest in her life. Her heartwould throb like a girl's when she saw, on the little drop-leaftable in the hallway, the big square envelope addressed in thedoctor's fine hand; sometimes--again like a girl--she carried itdown to the beach before breaking the seal, thrilled with athousand hopes, unready to put them to the test. Yesterday'sletter had said: "My dearest, "--had said: "Do you realize that Iwill see you in five weeks?" Could to-day's be half as sweet?

She was never disappointed. The strong tide of his devotion forher rose steadily through letter after letter; in August theglowing letters of July seemed cold by contrast, in Septemberevery envelope brought her a flaming brand to add to the firesthat were beginning to blaze within her. In late September therewas an interval; and Rachael told herself that now he was on theocean--now he was on the ocean--

By this time the digging babies were gone, the beach was almostdeserted. Little office clerks, men and women, coming down for thetwo weeks of rest that break the fifty of work, still arrived onthe late train Saturday, and went away on the last train two weeksfrom the following Sunday, but there were no more dances at theone big hotel, and some of the smaller hotels were closed. Thetall, plain, attractive woman--with the three children and thebaby, who drove over from Clark's Hills every day, and, who, forall her graying hair and sun-bleached linens, seemed to be ofRachael's own world--still brought her shrieking and splashingtrio to the beach, but she had confided to Mrs. Dimmick, who hadknown her for many summers, that even her long holiday was drawingto a close. Mrs. Dimmick brought extra blankets down from theattic, and began to talk of seeing her daughter in California. Rachael, drinking in the glory of the dying summer, found each daymore exquisite than the last, and gratified her old hostess byexpressing her desire to spend all the rest of her life in QuakerBridge. 

She had, indeed, come to like the villagers thoroughly; not thesummer population, for the guests at all summer hotels are alikeuninteresting, but for the quiet life that went on year in andyear out in the little side streets: the women who washed clothesand swept porches, who gardened with tow-headed babies tumblingaround them, who went on Sundays to the little bald-faced churchat ten o'clock. Rachael got into talk with them, trying to realizewhat it must be to walk a hot mile for the small transaction ofselling a dozen eggs for thirty cents, to spend a long morningcarefully darning an old, clean Nottingham lace curtain that couldbe replaced for three dollars. She read their lives as if they hadbeen an absorbing book laid open for her eyes. The coming of theHolladay baby, the decline and death of old Mrs. Bird, the narrowescape of Sammy Tew from drowning, and the thorough old-fashionedthrashing that Mary Trimble gave her oldest son for taking alittle boy like Sammy out beyond the "heads, "--all these thingssank deep into the consciousness of the new Rachael. She liked thewhitewashed cottages with their blazing geraniums and climbinghoneysuckle, and the back-door yards, with chickens fluffing inthe dust, and old men, seated on upturned old boats, smoking andwhittling as they watched the babies "while Lou gets her workcaught up". 

October came in on a storm, the most terrifying storm Rachael hadever seen. Late in the afternoon of September's last golden day awind began to rise among the dunes, and Rachael, who, wrapped in awhite wooly coat and deep in a book, had been lying for an hour ortwo on the beach, was suddenly roused by a shower of sand, and satup to look at the sky. Clouds, low and gray, were moving rapidlyoverhead, and although the tide was only making, and high waterwould not be due for another hour, the waves, emerald green, swift, and capped with white, were already touching the landmostwater-mark. 

Quickly getting to her feet, she started briskly for home, following the broken line of kelp and weeds, grasses, driftwood, and cocoanut shells that fringed the tide-mark, and ratherfascinated by the sudden ominous change in sea and sky. In thelittle village there was great clapping of shutters and strainingof clotheslines, distracted, bareheaded women ran about theirdooryards, doors banged, everywhere was rush and flutter. 

"D'clare if don't think th' folks at Clark's Hills going to beshut of completely, " said Mrs. Dimmick, bustling about withhousewifely activity, and evidently, like all the village and likeRachael herself, a little exhilarated by the oncoming siege. 

"What will they do?" Rachael demanded, unhooking a writhinghammock from the porch as the old woman briskly dragged the bigcane rockers indoors. 

"Oh, ther' wunt no hurt come t'um, " Mrs. Dimmick said. "But--comean awful mean tide, Clark's Bar is under water. They'll jest haveto wait until she goes down, that's all. "

"Shell I bring up some candles from suller; we ain't got muchkarosene!" Florrie, the one maid, demanded excitedly. Chess, thehired man, who was Florrie's "steady, " began to bring wood in bythe armful, and fling it down by the airtight stove that had beenset up only a few days before. 

The wind began to howl about the roof; trees in the dooryardrocked and arched. Darkness fell at four o'clock, and thedeafening roar of the ocean seemed an actual menace as the nightcame down. Chess and Florrie, after supper, frankly joined thefamily group in the sitting-room, a group composed only of Rachaeland Mrs. Dimmick and two rather terrified young stenographers fromthe city. 

These two did not go to bed, but Rachael went upstairs as usual atten o'clock, and drifted to sleep in a world of creaking, banging, and roaring. A confusion and excited voices below stairs broughther down again rather pale, in her long wrapper, at three. TheBarwicks, mother, father, and three babies, had left their beachcottage in the night and the storm to seek safer shelter and thewelcome sound of other voices than their own. 

After that there was little sleep for anyone. Still in the roaringdarkness the clocks presently announced morning, and a neighbor'sboy, breathless, dripping in tarpaulins, was blown against thedoor, and burst in to say with youthful relish that the porches ofthe Holcomb house were under water, and the boardwalk washed away, and folks said that the road was all gone betwixt here and thelighthouse. Rain was still falling in sheets, and the wind wasstill high. Rachael braved it, late in the afternoon, to go outand see with her own eyes that the surf was foaming and frothingover the deserted bandstand at the end of the main street, and gotback to the shelter of the house wet and gasping, and with thefirst little twist of personal fear at her heart. Suppose thatlimitless raging green wall down there rose another ten--anothertwenty--feet, swept deep and roaring and resistless over littleQuaker Bridge, plunged them all for a few struggling, hopelessmoments into its emerald depths, and then washed the littleloosely drifting bodies that had been men and women far out to seaagain?

What could one do? No trains came into Quaker Bridge to-day; itwas understood that there were washouts all along the line. Rachael sat in the dark, stuffy little sitting-room with theplacid Barwick baby drowsing in her lap, and at last her facereflected the nervous uneasiness of the other women. Every time anespecially heavy rush of rain or wind struck the unsubstantiallittle house, Mrs. Barwick said, "Oh, my!" in patient, hopelessterror, and the two young women looked at each other with a quickhissing breath of fear. 

The night was long with horror. There were other refugees in Mrs. Dimmick's house now; there were in all fifteen people sittingaround her little stove listening to the wind and the ocean. Theold lady herself was the most cheerful of the group, althoughRachael and one or two of the others managed an appearance atleast of calm. 

"Declare, " said the hostess, more than once, "dunt see what we'sall thinkin' of not to git over to Clark's Hills 'fore the bar wasunder water! They've got sixty-foot elevation there!"

"I'd just as soon try to get there now, " said Miss Stokes of NewYork eagerly. 

"There's waves eight feet high washin' over that bar, " ErnestBarwick said, and something in the simple words made little MissStokes look sick for a moment. 

"What's our elevation?" Rachael asked. 

"'Bout--" Mr. Barwick paused. "But you can't tell nothing bythat, " he contented himself with remarking after a moment'sthought. 

"But I never heard--I never HEARD of the sea coming right over awhole village!" Rachael hated herself for the fear that draggedthe words out, and the white lips that spoke them. 

"Neither did I!" said half a dozen voices. There was silence whilethe old clock on the mantel wheezed out a lugubrious eightstrokes. "LORD, how it rains!" muttered Emily Barwick. 

Nine o'clock--ten o'clock. The young women, the old woman, themaid and man who would be married some day if they lived, thehusband and wife who had been lovers like them only a few yearsago, and who now had these three little lives to guard, all satwrapped in their own thoughts. Rachael sat staring at the stove'sred eye, thinking, thinking, thinking. She thought of WarrenGregory; his steamer must be in now, he must be with his mother inthe old house, and planning to see her any day. To-morrow--ifthere was a to-morrow--might bring his telegram. What would hislife be if he might never see her again? She could not even leavehim a note, or a word; on this eve of their meeting, were they tobe parted forever? Should she never tell him how dearly--howdearly--she loved him? Tears came to her eyes, her heart was wrungwith exquisite sorrow. 

She thought of Billy--poor little Billy--who had never had amother, who needed a mother so sadly, and of her own mother, deadnow, and of the old blue coat of thirteen years ago, and the roughblue hat. She thought of her great-grandmother in the littlewhitewashed California cottage under the shadow of the bluemountains, with the lilacs and marigolds in the yard. And coloredby her new great love, and by the solemn fears of this endlessnight, Rachael found a tenderness in her heart for all thoseshadowy figures that had played a part in her life. 

At midnight there came a thundering crash on the ocean side of thehouse. 

"Oh, God, IT'S THE SEA!" screamed Emily Barwick. They all rushedto the door and flung it open, and in a second were out in thewild blackness of the night. Still the roaring and howling andshrieking of the elements, still the infuriated booming of thesurf, but--thank God--no new sound. There was no break in theflying darkness above them; the street was a running sheet ofwater in the dark. 

Yet strangely they all went back into the house vaguely quieted. Rachael presently said that no matter what was going to happen, she was too cold and tired to stay up any longer, and wentupstairs to bed. Miss Stokes and Miss McKim settled themselves intheir chairs; Emily Barwick went to sleep with her head againsther husband's thin young shoulder. Somebody suggested coffee, andthere was a general move toward the kitchen. 

Rachael, a little bewildered, woke in heavenly sunlight in exactlythe position she had taken when she crept into bed the nightbefore. For a few minutes she lay staring at the bright old homelyroom, and at the clock ticking briskly toward nine. 

"Dear Lord, what a thing sunshine is?" she said then slowly. Noneed to ask of the storm with this celestial reassurance floodingthe room. But after a few moments she got up and went to thewindow. The trees, battered and torn, were ruffling such leaves aswere left them gallantly in the wind, the paths still ran yellowwater, the roadway was a muddy waste, eaves were still gurgling, and everywhere was the drip and splash of water. But the sky wasclear and blue, and the air as soft as milk. 

As eager as a child Rachael dressed and ran downstairs, and wasout in the new world. The fresh wind whipped a glorious color intoher face; the whole of sea and sky and earth seemed to be singing. 

Trees were down, fences were down, autumn gardens were all awreck; and the ocean, when she came to the shore, was stillrolling wild and high. But it was blue now, and the pure sky aboveit was blue, and there was utter protection and peace in the sunnyair. Landmarks all along the shore were washed away, and beyondthe first line of dunes were pools left by the great tide, scummyand sinking fast into the sand, to leave only a fringe of bubblesbehind. Minor wreckages of all sorts lay scattered all along thebeach: poles and ropes, boxes and barrels. 

Rachael walked on and on, breathing deep, swept out of herself bythe fresh glory of the singing morning. Presently she would goback, and there would be Warren's letter, or his telegram, orperhaps himself, and then their golden days would begin--theirhappy time! But even Warren to-day could not intrude upon her moodof utter gratitude and joy in just living--just being young andalive in a world that could hold such a sea and such a sky. 

A full mile from the village, along the ocean shore, a stream camedown from under a cliff, a stream, as Rachael and investigatingchildren had often proved to their own satisfaction, that rose ina small but eminently satisfactory cave. The storm had washedseveral great smooth logs of driftwood into the cave, and beyondthem to-day there was such a gurgling and churning going on thatRachael, eager not to miss any effect of the storm, steppedcautiously inside. 

The augmented little river was three times its usual size, and wasfurther made unmanageable by the impeding logs swept in by thehigh tide. Straw and weeds and rubbish of every description chokedits course, and little foaming currents and backwaters almostfilled the cave with their bubbling and swirling. 

Rachael, with a few casual pushes of a sturdy little shoe, accomplished such surprising results in freeing and directing thestream that she fell upon it in sudden serious earnest, grasping along pole the better to push obstructing matters aside, andgrowing rosy and breathless over her self-imposed and senselessundertaking. 

She had just loosened a whole tangle of wreckage, and hadstraightened herself up with a long, triumphant "Ah-h!" of relief, as the current rushed it away, when a shadow fell over the mouthof the cave. Looking about in quick, instinctive fear, she sawWarren Gregory smiling at her. 

For only one second she hesitated, all girlhood's radiant shynessin her face. Then she was in his arms, and clinging to him, andfor a few minutes they did not speak, eyes and lips together inthe wild rapture of meeting. 

"Oh, Greg--Greg--Greg!" Rachael laughed and cried and sang thewords together. "When did you come, and how did you get here? Tellme--tell me all about it!" But before he could begin to answer hertheir eager joy carried them both far away from all theconversational landmarks, and again they had breath only formonosyllables, instinct only to cling to each other. 

"My girl, my own girl!" Warren Gregory said. "Oh, how I've missedyou--and you're more beautiful than ever--did you know it? Morebeautiful even than I remembered you to be, and that was beautifulenough!"

"Oh, hush!" she said, laughing, her fingers over the mouth thatpraised her, his arm still holding her tight. 

"I'll never hush again, my darling! Never, never in all the yearswe spend together! I am going to tell you a hundred times a daythat you are the most beautiful, and the dearest--Oh, Rachael, Rachael, shall I tell you something? It's October! Do you knowwhat that means?"

"Yes, I suppose I do!" She laughed, and colored exquisitely, drawing herself back the length of their linked arms. 

"Do you know what you're going to BE in about thirty-six hours?"

"Now--you embarrass me! Was--was anything settled?"

"Shall you like being Mrs. Gregory?"

"Greg--" Tears came to her eyes. "You don't know how much!" shesaid in a whisper. 

They sat down on a great log, washed silver white with long yearsof riding unguided through the seas, and all the wonderful worldof blue sky and white sand might have been made for them. Rachael's hand lay in her lover's, her glorious eyes rarely lefthis face. Browned by his summer of travel, she found him betterthan ever to look upon; hungry after these waiting months, everytone of his voice held for her a separate delight. 

"Did you ever dream of happiness like this, Rachael?"

"Never--never in my wildest flights. Not even in the past fewmonths!"

"What--didn't trust me?"

"No, not that. But I've been rebuilding, body and soul. I didn'tthink of the future or the past. It was all present. "

"With me, " he said, "it was all future. I've been counting thedays. I've not done that since I was at school! Rachael, do youremember our talk the night after the Berry Stokes' dinner?"

"Do I remember it?"

"Ah, my dear, if anyone had said that night that in six months wewould be sitting here, and that you would have promised yourselfto me! You don't know what my wife is going to mean to me, mydearest. I can't believe it yet!"

"It is going to mean everything in life to me, " she saidseriously. "I mean to be the best wife a man ever had. If lovingcounts--"

"Do you mean that?" he said eagerly. "Say it--do you mean that youlove me?"

"Love you?" She stood up, pressing both hands over her heart as ifthere were real pain there. For a few paces she walked away fromhim, and, as he followed her, she turned upon him theextraordinary beauty of her face transfigured with strong emotion. 

"Greg, " she said quietly, "I didn't know there was such love! I'veheard it called fire and pain and restlessness, but this thing isME! It is burning in me like flame, it is consuming me. To be withyou"--she caught his wrist with one hand, and with her free handpointed out across the smiling ocean--"to be with you and KNOW youwere mine, I could walk straight out into that water, and end itall, and be glad--glad--glad of the chance! I loved you yesterday, but what is this to-day, when you have kissed me, and held me inyour arms!" Her voice broke on something like a sob, but her eyeswere smiling. "All my life I've been asleep, " said Rachael. "I'mawake now--I'm awake now! I begin to realize how helpless one is--to realize what I should have done if you hadn't come--"

"My darling, " Gregory said, his arms about her "what else--feelingas we feel--could I have done?"

Held in his embrace, she rested her hands upon his shoulders, andlooked wistfully into his eyes. 

"It is as WE feel, isn't it?" she said. "I mean, it isn't only me?You--you love me?"

Looking down at her dropped, velvety lashes, feeling the warmstrong beat of her heart against his, holding close as he did allher glowing and fragrant beauty, Warren Gregory felt it the mostexquisite moment of his life. Her youth, her history, herwonderful poise and sureness so intoxicatingly linked with all agirl's unexpected shyness and adorable uncertainties, all thesecombined to enthrall the man who had admired her for many yearsand loved her for more than one. 

"Love you?" he asked, claiming again the lips she yielded withsuch a delicious widening of her eyes and quickening of breath. 

"You see, Warren, " she said presently, "I'm not a girl. I givemyself to you with a knowledge and a joy no girl could possiblyhave. I don't want to coquette and delay. I want to be your wife, and to learn your faults, and have you learn mine, and settle downinto harness--one year, five years--ten years married! Oh, youdon't know how I LONG to be ten years married. I shan't mind a bitbeing nearly forty. Forty--doesn't it sound SETTLED, and sedate--and that's what I want. I--I shall love getting gray, and feelingthat you and I don't care so much about going places, don't youknow? We'll like better just being home together, won't we? We'reolder than most people now, aren't we?"

He laughed aloud at the bright face so enchantingly young in itsrestored beauty. He had expected to find her charming, but in thisnew phase of girlishness, of happiness, she was a thousand timesmore charming than he had dreamed. It was hard to believe thatthis eager girl in a striped blue and yellow and purple skirt, andrough white crash hat, was the bored, the remote, the much-fearedMrs. Clarence Breckenridge. Something free and sweet and virginalhad come back to her, or been born in her. She was like no phaseof the many phases in which he had known her; she was a Rachaelwho had never known the sordid, the disillusioning side of life. Even her seriousness had the confident, eager quality of youth, and her gayety was as pure as a child's. She had cast off the oldsophistication, the old recklessness of speech; she was not eveninterested in the old associates. The world for her was all in himand their love for each other, and she walked back to QuakerBridge, at his side, too wholly swept away from all self-consciousness to know or to care that they were at once the targetfor all eyes. 

A wonderful day followed, many wonderful days. Doctor Gregory'sgreat touring car and his livened man were at Mrs. Dimmick's doorwhen they got back, an incongruous note in little Quaker Bridge, still gasping from the great storm. 

"Your car?" Rachael said. "You drove down?"

"Yesterday. I put up at Valentine's--George Valentine's, you know, at Clark's Hills. "

"Oh, that's my nice lady--gray haired, and with three children?"Rachael said eagerly. "Do you know her?"

"Know her? Valentine is my closest associate. They meet us in townto-morrow: he's to be best man. You'll have to have them to dinneronce a month for the rest of your life!"

The picture brought her happy color, the shy look he loved. 

"I'm glad, Greg. I like her immensely!"

They were at the car; she must flush again at the chauffeur'sgreeting, finding a certain grave significance, a certainacceptance, in his manner. 

"Wife and baby well, Martin?"

"Very well, thank you, Mrs. Breckenridge. "

"Still in Belvedere Hills?"

"Well, just at present, yes, Madam. "

"You see, I am looking for suitable quarters for all hands, "Doctor Gregory said, his laugh drowning hers, his eyes feasting onher delicious confusion. She was aware that feminine eyes from thehouse were watching her. Presently she had kissed Mrs. Dimmickgood-bye. Warren had put his man in the tonneau; he would take thewheel himself for the three hours' run into town. 

"Good-bye, my dear!" said the old lady, adding with an innocentvacuity of manner quite characteristic of Quaker Bridge. "Let meknow when the weddin's goin' to be!"

"I'll let you know right now, " said Doctor Gregory, who, glovedand coated, was bustling about the car, deep in the mysteriousrites incidental to starting. "It's going to be to-morrow!"

"Good grief!" exclaimed Mrs. Dimmick delightedly. "Well, " sheadded, "folks down here think you've got an awfully pretty bride!"

"I'm glad she's up to the standard down here, " Warren Gregoryobserved. "Nobody seems to think much of her looks up in thecity!"

Rachael laughed and leaned from her place beside the driver tokiss the old lady again and to wave a general good-bye to Florrieand Chess and the group on the porch. As smoothly as if she werelaunched in air the great car sprang into motion; the storm-blowncottages, the battered dooryards, the great shabby trees over thelittle post office all swept by. They passed the turning that ledto Clark's Bar, and a weather-worn sign-post that read "QuakerBridge, 1 mile. " It was not a dream, it was all wonderfully true:this was Greg beside her, and they were going to be married!

Rachael settled back against the deep, soft cushions in uttercontent. To be flying through the soft Indian summer sunshine, alone with Greg, to actually touch his big shoulder with her own, to command his interest, his laughter, his tenderness, at will--after these lonely months it was a memorable and an enchantingexperience. Their talk drifted about uncontrolled, as talk afterlong silence must: now it was a waiter on the ocean liner of whomGregory spoke, or perhaps the story of a small child's rescue fromthe waves, from Rachael. They spoke of the roads, splendidly hardand clean after the rain, and of the villages through which theyrushed. 

But over their late luncheon, in a roadside inn, the talk fellinto deeper grooves, their letters, their loneliness, and theirnew plans, and when the car at last reached the traffic of the bigbridge, and Rachael caught her first glimpse of the city under itsthousand smoking chimneys, there had entered into theirrelationship a new sacred element, something infinitely tender andalmost sad, a dependence upon each other, a oneness in whichRachael could get a foretaste of the exquisite communion so soonto be. 

They were spinning up the avenue, through a city humming with thefirst reviving breath of winter. They were at the great hotel, andRachael was laughing in Elinor Vanderwall's embrace. The linenshop, the milliner, a dinner absurdly happy, and one of the newplays--a sunshiny morning when she and Elinor breakfasted in theirrooms, and opened box after box of gowns and hats--the hours fledby like a dream. 

"Nervous, Rachael?" asked Miss Vanderwall of the vision thatlooked out from Rachael's mirror. 

"Not a bit!" the wife-to-be answered, feeling as she said it thather hands, busy with long gloves, were shaking, and her kneesalmost unready to support her. 

"It must be wonderful to marry a man like Greg, " said thebridesmaid thoughtfully. "He simply IS everything and HASeverything--"

"Ah, Elinor, it's wonderful to marry the man you love!" Rachaelturned from the mirror, her blue eyes misted with tears under thebrim of her wedding hat. 

"YOU!" Elinor smiled. "That I should live to see it! You--inlove!"

"And unashamed, and proud of it!" Rachael said with a tremulouslaugh. "Are you all ready? Shall we go down?" She turned at thedoor and put one arm about her friend. "Kiss me, Elinor, and wishme joy, " said she. 

"I don't have to!" asserted Miss Vanderwall, with a hearty kissnevertheless, "for it will be your own fault entirely if there'sever the littlest, teeniest cloud in the sky!"

END OF BOOK I

BOOK II

CHAPTER I

Yet, even then, as Rachael Gregory admitted to herself monthslater, there had been a cloud in the sky--a cloud so tiny and sovague that for many days she had been able to banish it in theflooding sunshine all about her whenever it crossed her vision. 

But it was there, and after a while other tiny clouds came to bearit company, and to make a formidable shadow that all herphilosophy could not drive away. Philosophy is not the bride'snatural right; the honeymoon is a time of unreason; a crumpledrose-leaf in those first uncertain weeks may loom larger than allthe far more serious storms of the years to come. 

Rachael, loving at last, was overwhelmed, intoxicated, carriedbeyond all sanity by the passion that possessed her. 

When Warren Gregory came to find her at Quaker Bridge on thatunforgettable morning after the storm, a chance allusion to Mrs. Valentine, the charming unknown lady with the gray hair, haddistracted Rachael's thoughts from the point at issue. But lateron, during the long drive, she had remembered it again. 

"But Greg, dear, did you tell me that you and Doctor Valentinedrove down yesterday in all that frightful storm?"

"No, no, of course not, my child; we came down late the nightbefore--why, yesterday we couldn't get as far as the gate! Mrs. Valentine's brother was there, and we played thirty-two rubbers ofbridge! Sweet situation, you two miles away, and me held up afterthree months of waiting!"

She said to herself, with a little pain at her heart, that shedidn't understand it. It was all right, of course, whatever Gregdid was all right, but she did not understand it. To be so near, to have that hideous war of wind and water raging over the world, and not to come somehow--to swim or row or ride to her, to bringher delicious companionship and reassurance out of the storm! Why, had she known that Greg was so near no elements that ever ragedcould have held her--

But of course, she was reminding herself presently, Greg had neverbeen to Quaker Bridge, he had no reason to suppose her in actualdanger; indeed, perhaps the danger had always been more imaginedthan real. If his hosts had been merely bored by the weather, merely driven to cards, how should he be alarmed?

"Did the Valentines know what a tide we were having in QuakerBridge?" she asked, after a while. 

"Never dreamed it; didn't know we'd been cut off until it was allover!" That was reassuring, at least. "And, you see, I couldn'tsay much about our plans. Alice Valentine's all wool, of course, but she's anything but a yard wide! She wouldn't have understood--not that it matters, but it was easier not! She was sweet to youat the wedding, and she'll ask us to dinner, and you two will getalong splendidly. But she's not as--big as George. "

"You mean, she doesn't like the--divorce part of it?"

"Or words to that effect, " the doctor answered comfortably. "Ofcourse, she'd never have said a word. But they are sort of simpleand old-fashioned. George understands--that's all I care about. Doyou see?"

"I see, " she answered slowly. But when he spoke again the sunshinecame back to her heart; he had planned this, he had planned that, he had wired Elinor, the power boat was ready. She was a woman, after all, and young, and the bright hours of shopping, of beingadmired and envied, and, above all, of being so newly loved andprotected, were opening before her. What woman in the world hadmore than she, what woman indeed, she asked herself, as he turnedtoward her his keen, smiling look of solicitude and devotion, hadone-tenth as much?

Later on, in that same day, there was another tiny shadow. Rachael, however, had foreseen this moment, and met it bravely. 

"How's your mother, Greg?" she asked suddenly. 

"Fine, " he answered, and with a swift smile for her he added, "andfurious!"

"No--is she really furious?" Rachael asked, paling. 

"Now, my dearest heart, " Warren Gregory said with an air ofauthority that she found strangely thrilling and sweet, "from thismoment on make up your mind that what my good mother does and saysis absolutely unimportant to you and me! She has lived her life, she is old, and sick, and unreasonable, and whatever we didwouldn't please her, and whatever anyone does, doesn't satisfy heranyway! In forty years--in less than that, as far as I'mconcerned--you and I'll be just as bad. My mother acted like amartyr on the steamer; she was about as gay with her old friendsin London as you or I'd be at a funeral; she had an air of loftyendurance and forbearance all the way, and, as I said to MargaretClay in Paris, the only time I really thought she was enjoyingherself was when she had to be hustled into a hospital, and for aday or two there we really thought she was going to havepneumonia!"

Rachael's delightful laugh rang out spontaneously from utterrelief of heart. 

"Oh, Greg, you're delicious! Tell me about old Lady Frothingham, is she difficult, too? And how's pretty Magsie Clay?"

"Now, if we're married to-morrow, " the doctor Went on, too muchabsorbed in his topic to be lightly distracted. "But do you hearme, Ma'am? How does it sound?"

"It sounds delicious! Go on!"

"If we're married to-morrow, I say--it could be to-day just aswell, but I suppose you girls have to buy clothes, and have yourhands manicured, and so on--"

"You know we do, to say nothing of lying awake all night talkingabout our beaux!"

"Well"--he conceded it somewhat reluctantly--"then, to-morrow, some time before I go with Valentine to call for you, I'll go downto see my mother. She'll kiss me, and sigh, and feel martyred. Ina month or two she'll call on me at the office. 'Why don't you andyour wife come to see me, James?' 'Would you like us to, Mother?We fancied you were angry at us. ' 'I am sorry, my son, of course, but I have never been angry. Will you come to-morrow night?' Andwhen we go, my dear, you'd never dream that there was anythingamiss, I assure you!"

"I'll make her love me!" said Rachael, smiling tenderly. 

"Perhaps some day you'll have a very powerful argument, " he saidwith a significant glance that brought the quick blood to herface. "Mother couldn't resist that!"

She did not answer. It was a part of this new freshness and purityof aspect that she could not answer. 

"You asked about Margaret Clay, " the doctor remembered presently. "She was the same old sixpence, only growing up now; she owns tonineteen--isn't she more than that? She always did romance andyarn so much about herself that you can't believe anything. "

"She's about twenty-one, perhaps no more than twenty, " Rachaelsaid, after some thought. "Did they say anything about Parker andLeila?"

"No, but the old lady can't do much harm there. She'll not lastanother six months. She may leave Margaret a slice, but it won'tbe much of a slice, for Parker could fight if it was. Leila'spretty safe. We'll have to go to that wedding, by the way!"

"Oh, Greg, the fun of going places together!" She was her happiestself again. His mother and Alice Valentine and everything else buttheir great joy was forgotten as they lingered over their luncheonand planned for their wedding day. 

If they could only have been alone together, always, thought thenew-made wife, when two perfect weeks on the powerful motor boatwere over, and all the society editors were busily announcing thatDoctor and Mrs. James Warren Gregory were furnishing theirluxurious apartment in the Rotterdam, where they would spend thewinter. They were so happy together; there was never enough timeto talk and to be silent, never enough of their little luncheonsall by themselves, their theatre trips, their afternoon drivesthrough the sweet, clear early winter sunshine on the Park. 

Always in the later years Rachael could feel the joy of these daysagain when she caught the scent of fresh violets. Never a daypassed that Warren did not send her or bring her a fragrantboxful. They quivered on the breast of her gown, and on herdressing-table they made her bedroom sweet. Now and then when sheand Warren were to be alone she braided her dark hair and wound itabout her head, tucking a few violets against the rich plaits, conscious that the classic simplicity of the arrangement enhancedher beauty, and was pleased in his pleasure. 

It suited her whim to carry out the little affectation in hersoaps and toilet waters; he could not pick up her handkerchief orhold her wrap for her without freeing the delicate faint odor ofher favorite flower. When they met downtown for dinner there wasalways the little ceremony of finding the florist, and all theoperas this winter were mingled for Rachael with the mostexquisite fragrance in the world. 

These days were perfect. It was only when the outside worldentered their paradise that anything less than perfect happinessentered, too. Rachael's old friends--Judy Moran, Elinor, and theVillalongas--said, and said with truth, that she had changed. Shehad not tried to change, but it was hard for her to get the oldpoint of view now, to laugh at the old jokes, to listen to the oldgossip. She had been cold and wretched only a year before, but shehad had the confident self-sufficiency of a gypsy who walksbareheaded and irresponsible through a world whose treasure willnever come her way. Now Rachael, tremulous and afraid, was theguardian of the great treasure, she knew now what love meant, andshe could no longer face even the thought of a life without love. 

Tirelessly, and with increasing satisfaction, she studied herhusband's character, finding, like all new wives, that almost allher preconceived ideas of him had been wrong. Like all the world, she had always fancied Greg something of an autocrat, positivealmost to stubbornness in his views. 

Now it was amusing to discover that he was really a rather mildperson, except where his work was concerned, rarely taking theinitiative in either praising or blaming anybody or anything, deeply influenced by the views of other persons, and content to berather a listener and onlooker than an active participant in whatdid not immediately concern him. Rachael found this, for somesubtle reasons of her own, highly pleasing. It made her lessafraid of her husband's criticism, and spared her many of thosetremors common to the first months of married life. Also, it gaveher an occasional chance to influence him, even to protect himfrom his own indifference to this issue or that. 

She laughed at him, accusing him of being an impostor. Why, everyone thought Dr. Warren Gregory, with his big scowl and hisfirm-set jaw, was an absolute Tartar, she exulted, when as amatter of fact he was only a little boy afraid of his wife! Hehated, she learned, to be uncertain as to just the degree ofdressing expected of him on different occasions, he hated to enterhotels by the wrong doors, to hear her dispraise an operagenerally approved, or find good in a book branded by the criticsas worthless. With all his pride in her beauty, he could not bearto have her conspicuous; if her laughter or her unusual voiceattracted any attention in a public place, she could see that itmade him uncomfortable. These things Rachael might have consideredflaws in another man. In Warren they were only deliciouslyamusing, and his reliance upon her, where she had expected onlyabsolute self-possession from him, seemed to make him more herown. 

Rachael, daughter of wandering adventurers, had a thousand timesmore assurance than he. In her secret heart she had no regard forany social law; society was a tool to be used, not a weight underwhich one struggled helplessly. She dictated where he followedprecedent; she laughed where he was filled with apprehension. Seriously, she set her wits and her love to the task ofaccustoming him to joy, and day by day he flung off the old, half-defined reluctances that still bound him, and entered more fullyinto the delights of the care-free, radiant hours that lay beforethem. 

His wife saw the change in him, and rejoiced. But what she did notsee, as the months went on, was the no less marked change inherself. As Warren's nature expanded, and as he began to reachquite naturally for the various pleasures all about him, Rachael'ssoul experienced an alteration almost directly opposed. 

She became thoughtful, almost reserved, she began to show acertain respect for convention--not for the social conventions atwhich she had always laughed, and still laughed, but for thefundamental laws of truth, simplicity, and cleanness, upon whichthe ideal of civilization, at least, is based. She noticed thatshe was beginning to like "good" persons, even homely, dowdy, goodpersons, like Alice and George Valentine. She lost her oldappetite for scandal, for ugly stories, for reckless speech. 

Warren, freed once and for all from his old prejudice, foundnothing troublesome now in the thought that she had been anotherman's wife; it was a common situation, it was generally approved. As in other things, he had had stupidly conventional ideas aboutit once--that was all. But Rachael winced at the sound of the word"divorce, " not because of her own divorce, but at the thought thatsome other man and woman had promised in their first love whatlater they could not fulfil, and hated each other now where theyhad loved each other once, at the thought that perhaps--perhapsone of them loved the other still!

"Divorce is--monstrous, " she said soberly to her husband in one oftheir hours of perfect confidence. 

"How can we say it, of all persons, my darling? Don't behidebound!"

"No, " she smiled reluctantly, "I suppose we can't. But--but Inever feel like a divorced woman, Warren, I feel like a differentwoman, but not as if that term fitted me. It sounds so--coarse. Don't you think it does?"

"No, I never thought of it quite that way. Everyone makesmistakes, " he answered cheerfully. 

"Don't you care--that it's true of me?" she asked. 

"Are you trying to make me jealous, you gypsy!" he laughed. Butthere was no answering laughter in her face. 

"Yes, perhaps I am, " she admitted, as if she were a littlesurprised that it was so. And in her next slowly worded sentenceshe discovered for herself another truth. "I mind it, Warren!" shesaid. "I wish, with all my heart, that it wasn't so!"

"That isn't very consistent, sweet. Your life made you what youwere, the one woman in the world I could ever have loved. Whyquarrel with the process?"

"I wish you cared!" she said wistfully. 

"Cared?"

"Yes--suffered over it--objected. Then I could keep proving to youthat I never in my life loved anyone, man, woman, or child, untilnow!"

"But I believe that, my darling!"

She smiled at his wide, innocent look, a mother's amused yethopeless smile, and as they rose from their late luncheon he puthis arm about her and tipped her beautiful face up toward his own. 

"Don't you realize, my darling, that just as you are, you areperfect to me--not nearly perfect, or ninety-nine per cent. Perfect, but pressed down and running over, a thousand per cent. , a million per cent. ?" he asked. 

Her dark beauty glowed; she was more lovely than ever in herexquisite content. 

"Oh, Warren, if you'd only say that to me over and over!" shebegged. 

"Dear Heaven, hear the woman! What else DO I do?"

"Oh, I don't mean now. I mean always, all through our lives. It'sALL I want to hear!"

"Do you realize that you are an absolute--little--tyrant?" heasked, laughing. Radiantly she laughed back. 

"I only realize one thing in these days, " she answered; "I onlylive for one thing!"

It was true. The world for her now was all in her husband, hissmile was her light, and she lived almost perpetually in thesunshine. When they were parted--and they were never long parted--the memory of this glance or that tone, this eager phrase or thatsudden laugh, was enough to keep her happy. When they met again, whether she came to meet him in his own hallway, or rose, lovelyin her furs, and walked toward him in some restaurant or hotel, joy lent her a new and almost fearful beauty. To dress for him, tomake him laugh, to hold his interest, this was all that interestedher, and for the world outside of their own house she cared not atall. They had their own vocabulary, their own phrases for momentsof mirth or tenderness; among her gowns he had his favorites. Among the many expressions of his sensitive face there were somethat it was her whimsical pleasure always to commend. Theirconversation, as is the way with lovers, was all of themselves, and all of praise. 

Long before they were ready for the world it began to make itsdemands. Rachael loved her own home--they had chosen a largeduplex apartment on Riverside Drive--loved the memorable littlemeals they had before the fire, the lazy, enchanting hours ofreading or of music in the big studio that united the two largefloors, the scent of her husband's cigar, the rustle of her owngown, the snow slipping and lisping against the window, and it waswith great reluctance that she surrendered even one evening. Butthere was hospitable Vera Villalonga and her dreadful New Year'sdance, and there were the Bowditch dinner and the Hoyt dinner andthe Parmalee's dance for Katrina. Unwillingly the beautiful Mrs. Gregory yielded to the swift current, and presently they werecaught in the rush of the season, and could not have withdrawnthemselves except for serious cause. 

Rachael smiled a little wryly one morning over Mrs. GeorgeValentine's cordially worded invitation to an informal dinner, butshe accepted it as a matter of course, and wore her most beautifulgown. She deliberately set out to capture her hostess' friendship, and simple, sweet Mrs. Valentine could not long resist her guest'sbeauty and charm--such a young, fresh creature as she was, not abit one's idea of an adventuress, so genuinely interested in thechildren, so obviously devoted to Warren. 

Rachael, on her side, contemplated the Valentines with deepinterest. She found them a rather puzzling study, unlike anymarried couple that she had ever chanced to know. Alice was one ofthose good, homely, unfashionable women who seem utterly devoid ofthe instinct for dressing properly. Her masses of dull brown hairshe wore strained from her high forehead and wound round her headin a fashion hopelessly obsolete. Her evening gown, of handsomegray silk, was ruined by those little fussy touches of lace andruffling that brand a garment instantly as "homemade. "

George was one of the plainest of men, shy, awkward, insignificantlooking, with a long-featured, pleasant face, and red hair. Warrenhad told his wife at various times that George was "a prince, " andphysically, at least, Rachael found him disappointing, especiallybeside her own handsome husband. She knew he was clever, with alarge practice besides his work as head surgeon at one of the bighospitals, but Warren had added to this the information thatGeorge was a poor business man, and ill qualified to protect hisown interests. 

Yet, in his own home--a handsome and yet shabby brownstone housein the West Fifties--he appeared to better advantage. There was abrightness in his plain face when he looked at his wife, and anadoring response in her glance that after twelve years of marriedlife seemed admirable to Rachael. "Alice" was a word continuallyon his lips; what Alice said and thought and did was evidentlyperfection. Before the Gregorys had been ten minutes in the houseon their first visit he had gone downstairs to inspect thefurnace, wound and set a stopped clock, answered the telephonetwice, and fondly carried upstairs a refractory four-year-oldgirl, who came boldly down in her nightgown, with reproaches andrequests. On his return from this trip he brought down the one-year-old baby, another girl, delicious in the placid hour betweensupper and bed, and he and his wife and Warren Gregory exchangedadmiring glances as the beautiful Mrs. Gregory took the childdelightedly in her arms, contrasting her own dark and glowingloveliness with the tiny Katharine's gold and roses. 

It was a quiet evening, but Rachael liked it. She liked theirsimple, affectionate talk, their reminiscences, the serenity ofthe large, plainly furnished rooms, the glowing of coal fires inthe old-fashioned steel-barred grates. She liked Alice Valentine'splacidity, the sureness of herself that marked this woman as morehighly civilized than so many of the other women Rachael knew. There was none of Judy's and Gertrude's and Vera's excitabilityand restlessness here. Alice was concerned neither with her ownappearance nor her own wants; she was free to comment withamusement or wonder or admiration upon larger affairs. Rachaelwondered, as beautiful women have wondered since time began, whatheld this man so tightly to this mild, plain woman, and by whatspecial gift of the gods Alice Valentine might know herself securebeyond all question in a world of beauty and charm and youth. 

"Well, what d'you think of her, Alice?" Doctor Gregory had askedproudly when his wife was on his arm and leave-taking was inorder. 

"Think you're lucky, Greg, " Mrs. Valentine answered earnestly. "You've got a dear, good, lovely wife!"

"And you are going to let me come and make friends with the boyand the girls some afternoon?" Rachael asked. 

"If you WILL, " their mother said, and she and Rachael kissed eachother. Gregory chuckled, in high feather, all the way home. 

"You're a wonder, Ladybird! I have NEVER seen you sweeter norprettier than you were to-night!"

Rachael leaned back in the car with a long, contented sigh. 

"One can see that she was all ready to hate me, Greg; a woman whohad been married, and who snapped up her favorite bachelor--"

He laughed triumphantly. "She doesn't hate you now!"

"No, and I'll see to it that she never does. She's my sort ofwoman, and the children are absolute loves! I like that sort ofold-fashioned prejudice--honestly I do--that honor-thy-father-and-thy-mother-and-keep holy-the-sabbath-day sort of person. Don'tyou, Greg?"

"We--ll, I don't like narrowness, sweet. "

"No. " Rachael pondered in the dark. "Yet if you're not narrow youseem to be--really the only word for it is--loose, " she submitted. "Somehow lately, a great many persons--the girls I know--do seemto be a little bit that way. "

"You don't find THEM judging you!" her husband said. Rachaelanswered only by a rather faint negative; she would not elucidatefurther. This was one of the things she could never tell Warren, athing indeed that she would hardly admit to her own soul. 

But she said to herself that she knew now the worst evil ofdivorce. She knew that it coarsened whomever it touched, that itirresistibly degraded, that it lowered all the human standard ofgoodness and endurance, and self-sacrifice. However justified, itwas an evil; however properly consummated, it soiled the littlegroup it affected. The disinclination of a good woman like AliceValentine to enter into a close friendship with a younger andricher and more beautiful woman whose history was the history ofRachael Gregory was no mere prejudice. It was the feeling of arestrained and disciplined nature for an unchecked and ill-regulated one; it was the feeling of a woman who, at any cost, hadkept her solemn marriage vow toward a woman who had broken herword. 

Rachael was beginning to find it more comprehensible, even moreacceptable, than the attitude of her own old world. Fresh from theEden that was her life with Warren, she had turned back to thefriends whose viewpoint had been hers a few months ago. 

Were they changed, or was she? Both were changed, she decided. Shehad been a cold queen among them once, flattered by their praiseand laughter, reckless in speech, and almost as reckless inaction. But now her only kingdom was in Warren Gregory's heart. She had no largesse for these outsiders; she could not answer themwith her old quick wit now; indeed she hardly heard them. And ontheir side, where once there had been that certain deference dueto the woman who, however wretched and neglected, was stillClarence Breckenridge's wife, now she noticed, with quick shame, afamiliarity, a carelessness, that indicated plainly exactly thefine claim to delicacy that she had forfeited. Her position inevery way was better now than it had been then. But in some subtlepersonal sense she had lost caste. A story was ventured when shechanced to be alone with Frank Whittaker and George Pomeroy thather presence would have forbidden in the old days, and AllenParmalee gave her a sensation of absolute sickness by merrilyintroducing her to his sister from Kentucky with the words: "Don'tstare at her so hard, Bess! Of course you remember her: she wasMrs. Breckenridge last year, but now she's making a much betterrecord as Mrs. Gregory!"

The women were even more frank; Clarence's name was oftenmentioned in her presence; she was quite simply congratulated andenvied. 

"My dear, " said Mrs. Cowles, at a women's luncheon, "you wereextraordinarily clever, of course, but don't forget that you wereextremely lucky, too. Clarence making no fuss, taking all thetrouble to provide the evidence, and Greg being only too anxiousto step into his shoes, made it easy for you!"

"I'm no prude, " Rachael smiled, over a raging heart. "But Icouldn't see this coming, nobody did. All I could do was to breakfree before my self-respect was absolutely gone!"

"Go tell that to the White Wings, darling, " laughed Mrs. Villalonga, lazily blowing smoke into rings and spirals. 

"Seriously, Vera, I mean it!"

"Seriously, Rachael, do you mean to tell me that you hadn't theSLIGHTEST idea--" Mrs. Villalonga roused herself, to smilinglystudy the other woman's face as she asked the question. "Not aword--not a HINT?"

"Ah, well--" Rachael's face was flaming. She would have put herhand in the fire to be able to say "No. " The others laughedcheerfully. 

"Nobody misunderstands you, dear: you were in a rotten fix and yougot out of it nicely, " said fat Mrs. Moran, and Mrs. Villalongaadded consolingly: "Why, my heavens, Rachael, I'd leave Booth to-morrow for anyone half as handsome as Warren Gregory!"

In March the Gregorys sent out cards for their first really largeentertainment, a Mardi-Gras ball. Rachael and Warren spent manyhappy hours planning it: the studio was to be cleared, two otherbig rooms turned into one for the supper, music for dancing, musical numbers for the entertainment; it would be perfect inevery detail, one of the notable affairs of the winter. Rachaelhailed it as the end of the season. They were to make a flyingtrip to the Bermudas in April, and after that Rachael happilyplanned a month or two in the almost deserted city before Warrenwould be free to get away to the mountains or the boat. It waswith a delightful sense of freedom that she realized that herfirst winter in her new role was nearly over. Next winter herdivorce and remarriage would be an old story, there would be othergossip more fascinating and more new, she would be taken quite forgranted. Again, she might more easily evade the social demand nextwinter without exposing herself to the charge of being fickle orchanged. This year her brave and dignified facing of the world hadbeen a part of the price she paid for her new happiness. Now itwas paid. 

And for another reason, half-defined, Rachael was glad to see themonths go by. She had been Warren Gregory's wife for nearly sixmonths now, and the rapture of being together was still as greatfor them both as it had been in the first radiant days of theirmarriage. For herself, indeed, she knew that the joy wasconstantly deepening, and even the wild hunger and passion of herheart could find no flaw in his devotion. Her surrender to him waswith a glorious and unashamed completeness, the tones of herextraordinary voice deepened when she spoke to him, and in hereyes all who looked might read the story of insatiable and yetsatisfied love. 

CHAPTER II

Plans for the big dance presently began to move briskly, and therewas much talk of the affair. As hostess, Rachael would not mask, nor would Warren, but they were already amusing themselves withthe details of elaborate costumes. Warren's rather stern andclassic beauty was to be enhanced by the blue and buff of anofficer of the Revolution, fine ruffles falling at wrist andthroat, wide silver buckles on square-toed shoes, and satin ribbontying his white wig. Rachael, separately tempted by the thought ofDutch wooden shoes and of the always delightful hoop skirts, eventually abandoned both because it was not possible historicallyto connect either costume with the one upon which Warren haddecided. She eventually determined to be the most picturesque ofIndian maidens, with brown silk stockings disappearing intomoccasins, exquisite beadwork upon her fringed and slashed skirt, feathers in her loosened hair, and a small but matchless tigerskin, strapped closely across her back, to lend a touch ofdistinction to the costume. 

On the Monday evening before the dance she tried on her regaliaand appeared before her husband and three or four waiting dinnerguests, so exquisite a vision of glowing and radiant beauty thattheir admiration was almost a little awed. Her cheeks were crimsonbetween her loosened rich braids of hair; her eyes shone deeplyblue, and the fantastic costume, with its fluttering strips ofleather and richly colored wampum, gave an extraordinary qualityof youth and almost of frailty to her whole aspect. 

"The woman just sent this home. I couldn't resist showing you!"said Rachael, in a shower of compliments. "Isn't my tiger adarling? Warren went six hundred and seventy-two places to catchhim. Of course there never was a stripey tiger like this in NorthAmerica but what care I? I'm only a poor little redskin; atrifling inconsistency like that doesn't worry ME!"

"Me taky you my wikiup-HUH!" said Frank Whittaker invitingly. "Youmy squaw?"

"Come here, Hattie Fishboy, " said her husband, catching her by thearm. His face showed no more than an amused indulgence to hercaprice, but Rachael knew he was pleased. "Well, when you firstplanned this outfit I thought it was going to be an awful mess, "said he, turning her slowly about. "But it isn't so bad!"

"Isn't so bad!" Mrs. Bowditch said scornfully; "it's the loveliestthing I ever saw. I'll tell you what, Rachael, if you come down toEasthampton this summer we'll have a play, and you can be anIndian--"

"I'd love it, " Rachael said, and making a deep bow before herhusband she added: "I'll be Squaw-Afraid-of-Her-Man!"

She heard them laughing as she ran upstairs to change to a moreconventional dress. 

"Etta, " said she, consigning the Indian costume to her maid, "I'mtoo happy to live!"

Etta, one of those homely, conscientious women who extract in somemysterious way an actual pride and pleasure from the beauty of thewomen whom they serve, smiled faintly and dully. 

"The weather's getting real nice now, " she submitted, as one whowill not discourage a worthy emotion. 

Rachael laughed out joyously. The next instant she had flung up awindow and leaned out in the spring darkness. Trees on the drivewere rustling over pools of light, a lighted steamboat went slowlyup the river, the brilliant eyes of motor cars curved swiftlythrough the blackness. A hurdy-gurdy, guarded by two shadowyforms, was pouring out a wild jangle of sound from the curb. Whenthe window was shut, a moment later, the old Italian man and womanwho owned the musical instrument decided that they must mark thisapartment house for many a future visit, and, chatteringhopefully, went upon their way. The belladonna in the spangledgown, who had looked down upon them for a brief interval, meanwhile ran down to her guests. 

She was in wild spirits, inspired with her most enchanting mood;for an hour or two there was no resisting her. Mrs. Whittaker andMrs. Bowditch fell as certainly under her spell as did the threemen. "She really HAS changed since she married Greg, " said LouiseBowditch to Mrs. Whittaker; "but it's all nonsense--this talkabout her being no more fun! She's more fun than ever!"

"She's prettier than ever, " Gertrude Whittaker said with a sigh. 

The next afternoon, a dreary, wet afternoon, at about fouro'clock, Warren Gregory stepped out of the elevator, and quietlyadmitted himself to his own hallway with a latchkey. It was anunusual hour for the doctor to come home, and in the butler'scarefully commonplace tone as he answered a few questions Warrenknew that he knew. 

The awning had been stretched across the sidewalk, caterers' menwere in possession, the lovely spacious rooms were full offlowers; the big studio had been emptied of furniture, there weregreat palms massed in the musicians' corner; maids were quietlybusy everywhere; no eye met the glance of the man of the house ashe went upstairs. 

He found Mrs. Gregory alone in her own luxurious room. No one whohad seen her in the excited beauty of the night before would havebeen likely to recognize her now. She was pale, tense, and visiblynervous, wrapped in a great woolly robe, as if she were cold, andwith her hair bound carelessly and tightly back as a woman bindsit for bathing. 

"You've seen it?" she said instantly, as her husband came in. 

"George called my attention to it; I came straight home. I knew"--he was kneeling beside her, one arm about her, all his tendernessand devotion in his face--"I knew you'd need me. "

She laid an arm about his neck, sighed deeply, but continued tostare distractedly beyond him. 

"Warren, what shall we do?" she said with a certain vagueness andbrokenness in her manner that he found very disquieting. 

"Do, sweetheart?" he echoed at a loss. 

"With all those people coming to-night, " she added, mildlyimpatient. 

"Why, what CAN we do, dear?"

"You don't mean, " Rachael said incredulously, "that we shall haveto GO ON with it?"

"Think a minute, dearest. Why shouldn't we?"

"But"--her color, better since his entrance, was waning again--"with Clarence Breckenridge dying while we dance!" she shuddered. 

"Could anything be more preposterous than your letting anythingthat concerns Clarence Breckenridge affect what you do now?" heasked with kindly patience. 

"No, it's not that!" she answered feverishly. "But--but for anyold friend one would--would make a difference, and surely--surelyhe was more than that!"

"He WAS more than that, of course, but he has been less thannothing to you for a long time!"

"Yes, legally--technically, of course, " Rachael agreed nervously. She sat silent for a moment, frowning over some sombre thought. "But, Warren, they'll all know of it, they'll all be THINKING ofit, " she said presently. "I--really I don't think I can go throughit!"

"It's too bad, of course, " Warren Gregory said with his arm stillabout her. "I'd give ten thousand dollars to have had the poorfellow select some other time. But you've had nothing to do withit, and you simply must put it out of your mind!"

"It was Billy's marriage, of course!"

"Of course. She was married yesterday, you see, the day she cameof age. Poor kid--it's rather a sad start for her, especially withno one but Joe Pickering to console her!"

"She was mad about her father, " Rachael said in a preoccupiedwhisper. "Poor Billy--poor Billy! She never crossed him inanything but this. What did you see it in?"

"The World. How did you hear it?"

"Etta brought up the paper. " She closed her eyes and leaned backin her chair. "It seemed to jump at me--his picture and the name. Is he living--where is he?"

"At St. Mark's. He won't live. Poor fellow!" Warren Gregoryscowled thoughtfully as he gave a moment's thought to the otherman's situation, and then smiled sunnily at his wife with a briskchange of topic. "Well, " he said cheerfully, "is anyone in thisplace glad to see me, or not, or what?"

"It just seems to me that I CANNOT face all those people to-night!" Rachael said, giving him a quick, unthinking kiss beforeshe gently put him away from her, and got to her feet. "It seemsso wrong--so coarse--to be utterly and totally indifferent to theman who was my husband a year ago. I don't love him, he is nothingto me, but it's all wrong, this way. If it was Peter Pomeroy orJoe Butler, of COURSE we'd put off our dance--Warren, " she turnedto him with sudden hope in her eyes, "do you suppose anybody'llcome?"

"My dear girl, " he said, displeased, "why are you working yourselfinto a fever over this? It's most unfortunate, but as far asyou're concerned, it's unavoidable, and you'll simply have to puta brave face on it, and get through it SOMEHOW! I am absolutelyconfident that when you've pulled yourself together you'll comethrough with flying colors. Of course everyone'll come; this istheir chance to show you exactly how little they ever think of youas Breckenridge's wife! And this is your chance, too, to act as ifyou'd never heard of him. Dash it! it does spoil our little party, but it can't be helped!"

"Do you suppose Billy's with him?" Rachael asked, her absent, glittering eyes fixed upon her own person as she sat before hermirror. 

"Oh, no--she and Pickering sailed yesterday for England--that'sthe dreadful thing for her. Clarence evidently spent the wholenight at the club, sitting in the library, thinking. Berry Stokeswent in for his mail after the theatre, and they had a littletalk. He promised to dine there to-night. At about ten thismorning Billings, the steward there, saw old Maynard going out--Maynard's one of the directors--and asked him if he wouldn'tplease go and speak to Mr. Breckenridge. Mayn went over to him, and Clarence said, 'Anything you say--'"

Rachael gave a gasp that was like a shriek, and put her two elbowson the dressing-table, and her face in her hands. It wasClarence's familiar phrase. 

"Oh, don't--don't--don't--Greg!"

"Well, that was all there was to it, " her husband said, watchingher anxiously. "He had the thing in his pocket. He stood up--everybody heard it. Fellows came rushing in from everywhere. Theygot him to a hospital. "

"Florence is with him, of course?"

"Florence is at Palm Beach. "

"Then who IS with him, Greg?"

"My dear girl, how do I know? It's none of my affair!"

Rachael sat still for perhaps two minutes, while her husband, ostentatiously cheerful, moved about the room selecting a changeof clothes. 

"To-morrow you can take it as hard as you like, sweet, " said he. "But to-night you'll have to face the music! Now get intosomething warm--it's a little cool out--and I'll take you for aspin, and we'll have dinner somewhere. Then we'll get back hereabout eight o'clock, and take our time dressing. "

"Yes, I'll do that, " Rachael agreed automatically. A moment latershe said urgently: "Warren, isn't there a chance that I'm rightabout this? Mightn't it be better simply to telephone everyonethat the dance is postponed? Make it next week, or Mi-Careme--anything. If they talk--let them! I don't care what they say. They'll talk anyway. But every fibre of my being, every delicateor decent instinct I ever had, rebels against this. Say I'm notwell, and let them buzz! I know what you are going to say--I knowthat it would SEEM less sensitive, less fine, to mourn for one manwhile I'm another man's wife, than to absolutely ignore whathappens to him, but you know what's the truth! I never loved him, and I love every hair of your head--you know that. Only--"

She stopped short, baffled by the difficulty of expressing herselfaccurately. 

"If you really love me, do what I ask you to-night, " WarrenGregory said firmly. 

His wife sat as if turned to stone for only a few seconds. Whenshe spoke it was naturally and cheerfully. 

"I'll be ready in no time, dear. Where are we to dine?" Sheglanced at her little crystal clock as she spoke, as if she werecomputing casually the length of the drive before dinner. But whatshe said in her heart was, "At this time to-morrow it will allhave been over for many hours!"

A few days later the Gregorys sailed for Bermuda, Rachael with asense of whipped and smarting shame that was all the more acutebecause she could not share it with this dearest comrade andconfidant. Warren thought indeed that the miserable episode of thepast week had been dismissed from her mind, and delighting like aboy in the little holiday, and proud of his beautiful wife, hefound their hours at sea cloudless. With two men, whoseacquaintance was made on the steamer, they played bridge, andRachael's game drew other players from all sides to watch herleads and grin over her bidding. They walked up and down the deckfor hours together, they lay side by side in deck chairs lazilywatching the blue water creep up and down the painted white ropesof the rail; but they never spoke of Clarence Breckenridge. 

The Mardi-Gras dance had been like a hideous dream to Rachael. Shehad known that it would be hard from the first sick moment inwhich the significance of Clarence's suicide had rushed upon her. She had known that her arriving guests would be gay andconversational, that the dance and the supper would go with a dashand swing which no other circumstance could more certainly haveassured for them; and she knew that in every heart would be theknowledge that Clarence Breckenridge was dying by his own hand, and his daughter on the ocean, and that this woman in the Indiandress, with painted lips and a tiger skin outlining her beautifulfigure, had been his wife. 

This she had expected, and this was as she had expected. But therewere other circumstances that made her feel even more acutely theturn of the screw. Joe Butler, always Clarence's closest friend, did not come to the dance, and at about twelve o'clock an innocentmaid delivered to Warren a message that several persons besidesWarren heard: "Mr. Butler to speak to you on the telephone, DoctorGregory. "

Everyone could surmise where Joe Butler was, but no one voiced thesupposition. Warren, handsome in his skirted coat, knee breeches, and ruffles, disappeared from the room, and the dancing went on. The scene was unbelievably brilliant, the hot, bright air sweetwith flowers and perfume, and the more subtle odors of silk andfine linen and powder on delicate skin. Warren was presently amongthem again, and there was a supper, the hostess' lovely faceshowing no more strain or concern than was natural to a womaneager to make comfortable nearly a hundred guests. 

After supper there was more dancing, and an augmented gayety. There were no more telephone messages, nor was there any definitefoundation for the rumor that was presently stealthilycirculating. Women, powdering their noses as they waited for theirwraps, murmured it in the dressing-rooms; a clown, smoking in thehall, confided it to a Mephistopheles; a pastry cook, after hiseffusive good-nights, confirmed it as he climbed into the motorcarthat held the Pierrette who was his wife: "Dead, poor fellow!"

"Dead, poor Clarence!" said Mrs. Prince, magnificent as QueenElizabeth, as she and Elinor Vanderwall went downstairs. She hadonce danced a fancy dance with him more than twenty years ago. "Awful!" said Elinor, shuddering. 

After the last guest was gone Warren telephoned to the hospital, Rachael, a little tired and pale in the Indian costume, watchingand listening tensely. She was sick at heart. Even into thelibrary, where they stood, the Mardi-Gras disorder had penetrated:a blue silk mask was lying across Warren's blotter, a spatter ofconfetti lay on the polished floor, and on the reading table was atray on which were two glasses through whose amber contents a lazybubble still occasionally rose. The logs that had snapped in thefireplace were gone, only gray ashes remained, and to Rachael, atleast, the room's desolation and disorder seemed to typify her ownstate of mind. 

She could tell from Warren's look that he found the whole matterpainful and distasteful to an almost unbearable degree; on hishandsome serious face was an expression of grim endurance, of hurtyet dignified protest against events. He did not blame her, howcould he blame her? But he was suffering in every fibre of hissensitive soul at this sordid notoriety, at this blatant voicingof a hundred ugly whispers in a matter so closely touching thewoman he loved. 

"Dead?" Rachael said quietly, when his brief conversation wasover. 

Warren Gregory, setting the telephone back upon the desk, noddedgravely. 

Rachael made no comment. For a moment her eyes widened nervously, and a little shudder rippled through her. Then silently shegathered up the leather belt and chains of beads that she had beenloosening as she listened, and slowly went toward the door. 

They did not speak again of Clarence that night, although theychatted easily for the next hour on other topics, even laughing alittle as the various episodes of the evening were passed inreview. 

But Rachael did not sleep, nor did she sleep during the long hoursof the following night. On the third night she wakened her husbandsuddenly from his sleep. 

"Greg--Greg! Won't you talk to me a little? I'm going mad, Ithink!"

"Rachael! What is it?" stammered the doctor, blinking in the dimlight of Rachael's bedside lamp. His wife, haggard, with her richhair falling in two long braids over her shoulders, was sitting onthe side of his bed. "What is it, darling--hear something?" heasked, more naturally, putting his arm about her. 

"I've been lying awake--and lying awake!" said Rachael, panting. "I haven't shut my eyes--it's nearly three. Greg, I keep seeingit--Clarence's face, you know, with that horrible scar! What shallI do?"

Shivering, gasping, wild-eyed, she clung to him, and for a longhour he soothed her as if she had been an hysterical child. He puther into a comfortable chair, mixed her a sedative, and kneltbeside her, slowly winning her back to calm and sanity again. Itwas terrible, of course, but no one but Clarence himself was toblame, unless it was poor Billy--

"Yes, I must see Billy when she comes back!" Rachael said quickly, when the tranquillizing voice reached this point. If WarrenGregory's quiet mouth registered any opposition, she did not seeit, and he did not express it. She was presently sound asleep, still catching a long childish breath as she slept. But she wokesmiling, with all the horrid visions of the past few daysapparently blotted out, and she and Warren went gayly downtown toget steamer tickets, and buy appropriate frocks and hats for thespring heat of Bermuda. 

In midsummer came the inevitable invitation to visit old friendsat Belvedere Bay. Rachael was pleased to accept Mrs. Moran'shospitality for a glorious July week. Warren, to her delight, tookan eightdays' holiday, and while he looked to his racquet and golfirons she packed her prettiest gowns. Belvedere Bay welcomed themrapturously, and beautiful Mrs. Gregory was the idol of the hour. Mrs. Moulton, giving a tennis tea during this week, duly sent Mrs. Gregory a card. But when society wondering whether Rachael wouldreally be a guest in her own old home, had duly gathered at theBreckenridge house, young Dicky Moran was so considerate as to beflung from his riding-horse. Neither the Gregorys nor the Moransconsequently appeared at the tea, but Rachael, meeting allinquirers on the Moran terrace, late in the afternoon, with thenews that Dicky was quite all right, no harm done, asked prettilyfor details of the affair they had missed. 

She told herself that the past really made no difference in theradiant present, but she knew it was not so. In a thousand littleways she had lost caste, and she saw it, if Warren did not. Acertain bloom was gone. Girls were not quite as deferentiallyadoring, women were a little less impressed. The old prestige wassomehow lessened. She knew that newcomers at the club, struck byher beauty, were a little chilled by her history. She felt thedifference in the very air. 

In her musings she went over the old arguments hotly. Why was shemerely the "divorced Mrs. Gregory?" Why were these casualinquirers not told of Clarence, of her long endurance of neglectand shame? More than once the thought came to her, that if other, events had been as they were, and only the facts of her divorceand remarriage lacking, she would have been Clarence's widow now. 

"What's the difference? It all comes out the same!" commentedWarren, to whom she confided this thought. 

"Then you and I would have been only engaged now, " said Rachael, smiling. "And I would like that!"

"You mean you regret your marriage?" he laughed, his arms abouther. 

"I'd like to live the first days over and over and over again, Greg!" she answered passionately. 

"You are an insatiable creature!" he said. But her earnestness wasbeginning to puzzle him a little. She was too deeply wrapped inher love for her own happiness or his. There was something almoststartling in her intensity. She was jealous of every minute thatthey were apart; she made no secret of her blind adoration. 

Warren had at first found this touching; it had humbled him. Later, in the first months of their marriage, he had shared it, and their mutual passion had seemed to them both a source ofinexhaustible delight. But now, even while he smiled at her, hiskeen sensitiveness where her dignity was concerned had shown himthat there was in her attitude something a little pitiful, something even a little absurd. 

Judy and Gertrude and little Mrs. Sartoris listened interestedlywhen Rachael talked of Greg, of his likes, his dislikes, hisfavorite words, his old-maidish way of arranging his ties, hismarvellous latest operation. But Warren, watching his wife'sflushed, lovely face, wondered if they were laughing at her. Hesmiled uncomfortably when she interrupted her bridge game to comeacross the club porch to him, to ask him if the tennis had beengood, to warn him that he would catch cold if he did not instantlyget out of those wet flannels, to ask Frank Whittaker what hemeant by beating her big boy three sets in succession?

"Rachael, I'm dealing for you--come back here!" Gertrude mightcall. 

"Deal away!" Rachael, one hand on Warren's arm, would look saucilyat the others over his shoulder. "I like my beau, " she wouldassert brazenly, "and if you say a word more, I'll kiss him hereand now!"

They all shrieked derisively when the kiss was duly delivered andGregory Warren with a self-conscious laugh had escaped to hisshower. But Rachael saw nothing absurd; she told Warren that sheloved him, and let them laugh if they liked!

"Listen, dearest!" he said on the last night of their stay. "Willyou be a darling, and not trail round the links if we play to-morrow?"

"Why not?" asked Rachael absently, fluffing his hair from herpoint of vantage on the arm of his chair. 

"Well, wouldn't you rather stay up on the porch with the girls?"

"If you men want to swear at your strokes, I decline to be a partyto it!" Rachael said maternally. 

"I know. But, darling, it does rather affect our game, " Warrensaid uncertainly; "that is, you don't play, you see! And it onlygets you hot and mussy, and I love my wife to be waiting when wecome up. It isn't that I don't think you're a darling to want todo it, " he added in hasty concern. 

No use. She was deeply hurt. She went to her dressing-table andbegan her preparations for the night with a downcast face. Certainly she wouldn't bother Warren. She only did it because sheloved him so. A tear splashed down on her white hand. 

Next day she triumphantly accompanied the golfers. Warren hadpetted and coaxed her out of her sulks, and she was radiant again. When they had said their good-byes to Judy, and were spinning intotown in the car that afternoon, she made him confess that she hadnot spoiled the game at all; he couldn't make her believe thatFrank and Tom and Peter had been pretending their pleasure athaving her go along!

But later in the summer she realized that Belvedere Bay wassmiling quietly at her bride-like infatuation, and she resented itdeeply. The discovery came about on a lazy summer afternoon whenseveral women, Rachael among them, were enjoying gossip and iceddrinks on the Parmalees' porch. Rachael had been talking of theemeralds that Warren was having reset for her, and chanced toobserve that Tiffany's man had said that Warren's taste in jewelrywas astonishing. 

"Rachael, " yawned little Vivian Sartoris, "for heaven's sake talkabout something else than Warren?"

"I talk about him because I like him!" Rachael said. "Better thananybody else in the world. "

"And he likes you better than anybody else in the world, Isuppose?" Vivian said idly. 

"He says so, " Rachael answered with a demure smile. "Then thatsettles it!" Vivian laughed. But she and several of her intimatesfell into low conversation, and the older women were presentlyinterrupted by Vivian's voice again. "Rachael!" she challenged, "Katrina says that SHE knows somebody Warren likes as well as hedoes you!"

"I did not!" protested Katrina, scarlet-cheeked and giggling, giving Vivian, who sat next her on the wide tiled steps, a violentpush. 

"Oh, you did, too!" one of the group exclaimed. 

Katrina murmured something unintelligible. 

"Well, that's the same thing!" Vivian assured her promptly. "Shesays now that Warren DID like her as well, Rachael!"

"Well, don't tell me who it is, and break my heart!" Rachaelwarned them. But her old sense of humor so far failed her that shecould not help adding curiously, "If Warren ever cared for anybodyelse, he'll tell me!"

There was a general burst of laughter, and Rachael colored. 

"No, it's nobody, " Katrina said hastily. "It's only idiocy!" Sheand the other girls laughed in a suppressed fashion for some time. Finally, to Rachael's secret relief, Gertrude Whittakerenergetically demanded the secret. More giggling ensued. ThenKatrina agreed that she would whisper it in Mrs. Whittaker's ear, which she did. Rachael saw Gertrude color and look puzzled for asecond, then she laughed scornfully. 

"What geese girls are! I never heard anything so silly!" Gertrudesaid. Several hours later she told Rachael. 

She did not tell her without some hesitation. It was so silly--itwas just like that scatter-brained Katrina, she said. Rachael, proudly asserting that nothing Katrina said would make anydifference to her, nevertheless urged the confidence. 

"Well, it's nothing, " Gertrude said at last. "This is what Katrinasaid: she said that Warren Gregory had liked Rachael Breckenridgeas well as he liked Rachael Gregory! That was all. "

Rachael looked puzzled in turn for a minute. Then she smiledproudly, and colored. 

"But that's not true, " she said presently. "For I have never seena man change as much since marriage as Warren! It's still aperfect miracle to him. He says himself that he gets happier andhappier--"

"Oh, Rachael, you're hopeless!" Gertrude laughed, and Rachaelcolored again. She flushed whenever she thought of this particularvisit. 

Far happier were the days they spent with the Valentines atClark's Bar. Rachael loved them all dearly, from little Katharineto the big quiet doctor; she was not misunderstood nor laughed athere. 

They swam, tramped, played cards, and talked tirelessly. Rachaelslept like a child on the wide, windbathed porch. To the greatsatisfaction of both doctors she and Alice grew to be devotedfriends, and when Warren's holiday was over, Rachael stayed on, for a longer visit, and the men came down in the car on Fridays. 

On her birthday this year her husband gave Rachael Gregory, andher heirs and assigns forever, a roomy, plain old colonialfarmhouse that stood near Alice's house, in a ring of great elms, looking down on the green level surface of the sea. Rachaelaccepted it with wild delight. She loved the big, homelike halls, the simple fireplaces, the green blinds that shut a sweet twilightinto the empty rooms. Her own barns, her own strip of beach, herown side yard where she and Alice could sit and talk, she tookeager possession of them all. 

She went into town for chintzes, papers, wicker tables and chairs. She brought old Mrs. Gregory down for the housewarming, and hadall the Valentines to dinner on the August evening when theGregorys moved in. And late that same evening, when Warren's armswere about her, she told him her great news. There were to belittle feet running about Home Dunes, and a little voice echoingthrough the new home. "Shall you be glad, Greg?" she asked, withtears in her eyes; "shall you be just a little jealous?"

"Rachael!" he said in a quick, tense whisper, afraid to believeher. And Rachael, caught in his dear arms, and with his cheekagainst her wet lashes, felt a triumph and a confidence risewithin her, and a glorious content that it was so. 

When the happy suspicion was a happy certainty she told hismother, and entered at once into the world of advice andreassurance, planning and speculation that belongs to women alone. Mrs. Valentine was also full of eager interest and counsel, andRachael enjoyed their solicitude and affection as she had enjoyedfew things in life. This was a perfectly natural symptom, that wasa perfectly natural phase, she must do this thing, get that, andavoid a third. 

The fact that she was not quite herself in soul or body, that shemust be careful, must be guarded and saved, was a source ofstrange and mysterious satisfaction to her as the quick monthsslipped by. Her increasing helplessness shut her quite naturallyaway into a world that contained only her husband and herself anda few intimate friends, and Rachael found this absolutelysatisfying, and did not miss the social world that hummed on asbusily and gayly as ever without her. 

Her baby was born in March, a beautiful boy, like his father evenin the first few moments of his life. Rachael, whose experiencehad been, to her astonishment, described complacently by physicianand nurses as "perfectly normal, " was slow to recover from theexperience in body; perhaps never quite recovered in soul. Itchanged all her values of life--this knowledge of what the comingof a child costs; she told Alice that she was glad of the change. 

"What a fool I've been about the shadows, " she said. "This is thereality! This counts, as it seems to me that nothing else I everdid in my life counts. "

She felt nearer than ever to Warren now, and more dependent uponhim. But a new dignity came into her relationship with him:husband and wife, father and mother, they wore the great titles ofthe world, now!

He found her more beautiful than ever, and as the baby was thecentre of her universe, and all her hopes and fears and thoughtsfor the child, the old bridal attitude toward him vanishedforever, and she was the more fascinating for that. His love forher rose like a great flame, and the passionate devotion for whichshe had been wistfully waiting for months enveloped her now, when, shaken in body and soul, she wished only to devote herself to themiracle that was her child. 

When he was but six weeks old James Warren Gregory Third terrifiedthe little circle of his family and friends with a severe touch ofsummer sickness. The weather, in late April, was untimely--hot andhumid--and the baby seemed to suffer from it, even in his airynursery. There were two hideous days in which he would take nofood, and when Rachael heard nothing but the little wailing voicethrough the long hours. All night she sat beside him, hearingWarren's affectionate protests as little as she heard thedignified remonstrance of the nurse. When day came she was haggardand exhausted, but still she would not leave her baby. She kneltat the crib, impressing the tiny countenance upon mind and heart--her first-born baby, upon whose little features the wisdom ofanother world still lingered like a light!

Only a few weeks old, and thousands of them older than he diedevery year! Fear in another form had come to Rachael now--lifeseemed all fear. 

"Oh, Warren, is he very ill?"

"Pretty sick, dear little chap!"

"But, Warren, you don't think--"

"My darling, I don't know!"

She turned desperately to George Valentine when that good friendcame in his professional capacity at five o'clock. 

"George, there's been a change--I'm sure of it. Look at him!"

"You ought to take better care of your wife, Greg, " was DoctorValentine's quiet almost smiling answer to this. "You'll have hersick next!"

"How is he?" Rachael whispered, as the newcomer bent over thebaby. There was a silence. 

"Well, my dear, " said Doctor Valentine, as he straightenedhimself, "I believe this little chap has decided to remain with usa little while. Very--much--better!"

Rachael tried to smile, but burst out crying instead, and clung toher husband's shoulder. 

"Let him have his sleep out, Miss Snow, " said the doctor, "andthen sponge him off and try him with food!"

"Oh--yes--yes--yes!" the baby's mother said eagerly, drying hereyes. "And you'll be back later, George?"

"Not unless you telephone me, and I don't think you'll have to, "George Valentine said. Rachael's face grew radiant with joy. 

"Oh, George, then he is better!" She was breathing like a runner. 

"Better! I think he'll be himself to-morrow. Console yourself, mydear Rachael, with the thought that you'll go through this ahundred times with every one of your children!"

"Oh, what a world!" Rachael said, half laughing and half sighing. But later she said to Warren, "Yet isn't it deliciously worthwhile!"

He had persuaded her to have some supper, and then they had comeback to the nursery, to see if the baby really would eat. He hadawakened, and had had his bath, and was crying again, but, asRachael eagerly said, it was a healthy cry. Trembling and smiling, she took the little creature in her arms, and when the busy littlelips found her breast, Rachael felt as if she could hardly bearthe exquisite incoming rush of joy again. 

Warren, watching her, smiled in deep satisfaction, and Miss Snowsmiled, too. But before she gave herself up to the luxury ofpossession the mother's tears fell hot on the baby's delicate gownand tiny face, and from that hour Rachael loved her son with thepassionate and intense devotion she felt for his father. 

Years later, looking at the pictures they took of him that summer, or perhaps stopped by the sight of some white-coated baby in thestreet, she would say to herself, --with that little heartache allmothers know, "Ah, but Jim was the darling baby!" After the firstscare he bloomed like a rose, a splendid, square, royal boy wholaughed joyously when admitted to the company of his family andfriends, and lay contentedly dozing and smiling when it seemedgood to them to ignore him. Rachael found him the mostdelightfully amusing and absorbing element her life had everknown; she would break into ecstatic laughter at his simplestfeat--when he yawned, or pressed his little downy head against thebars of his crib and stared unsmilingly at her. She would run tothe nursery the instant she arrived home, her eager, "How's myboy?" making the baby crow, and struggle to reach her, and it wasan event to her to meet his coach in the park, and give him herpurse or parasol handle with which to play. Often old Mary, thenurse, would see Mrs. Gregory pick up a pair of tiny white shoesthat still bore the imprint of the fat little feet, and touch themto her lips, or catch a crumpled little linen coat from thedrawer, and bury her face in it for a moment. 

Even in his tiny babyhood he was companionable to his mother, Rachael even consenting to the plan of taking him to Home Dunes inJune, although by this arrangement she saw Warren only at week-endintervals until the doctor's vacation came in August. When he camedown, and the big car honked at the gate, she invariably had thebaby in her arms when she came to meet him. 

"Hello, Daddy. Here we are! How are you, dearest?" Rachael wouldsay, adding, before he could answer her: "We want you to noticeour chic Italian socks, Doctor Gregory; how's that for fivemonths? Take him, Greg! Go to Daddy, Little Mister!"

"All very well, but how's my wife?" Warren Gregory might ask, kissing her over the baby's bobbing head. 

"Lovely! Do you know that your son weighs fifteen pounds--isn'tthat amazing?" Rachael would hang on his free arm, in happy wifelyfashion, as they went back to the house. 

"Want to go with me to London?" he asked her one day in the latefall when they were back in town. 

"Why not Mars?" she asked placidly, putting a fresh, stiff dressover Jimmy's head. 

"No, but I'm serious, my dear girl, " Warren Gregory saidsurprised. "But--I don't understand you. What about Jim?"

"Why, leave him here with Mary. We won't be gone four weeks. "

Rachael smiled, but it was an uneasy, almost an affronted, smile. 

"Oh, Warren, we couldn't! I couldn't! I would simply worry myselfsick!"

"I don't see why. The child would be perfectly safe. George isright here if anything happened!"

"George--but George isn't his mother!" Rachael fell silent, bitingher lip, a little shadow between her brows. "What is it--theconvention?" she presently asked. "Do you HAVE to go?"

"It isn't absolutely necessary, " Warren said dryly. But this wasenough for Rachael, who opened the subject that evening whenGeorge and Alice Valentine were there. 

"George, DOES Warren have to go to this London convention, orwhatever it is?"

"Not necessarily, " smiled Doctor Valentine. "Why, doesn't he wantto go?"

"I don't want him to go!" Rachael asserted. 

"It would be a senseless risk to take that baby across the ocean, "Alice contributed, and no more was said of the possibility then orat any other time, to Rachael's great content. 

But when the winter season was well begun, and Jimmy delicious inhis diminutive furs, Doctor Gregory and his wife had a serioustalk, late on a snowy afternoon, and Rachael realized then thather husband had been carrying a slight sense of grievance overthis matter for many weeks. 

He had come in at six o'clock, and was changing his clothes fordinner, half an hour later, when Rachael came into his dressing-room. Her hair had been dressed, and under her white silk wrapperher gold slippers and stockings were visible, but she seemeddisinclined to finish her toilette. 

"Awful bore!" she said, smiling, as she sat down to watch him. 

"What--the Hoyts? Oh, I don't think so!" he answered in surprise. 

"They all bore me to death, " Rachael said idly. "I'd rather have achop here with you, and then trot off somewhere all by ourselves!Why don't they leave us alone?"

"My dear girl, that isn't life, " Warren Gregory said firmly. Histone chilled her a little, and she looked up in quick penitence. But before she could speak he antagonized her by addingdisapprovingly: "I must say I don't like your attitude ofcriticism and ungraciousness, my dear girl! These people are allour good friends; I personally can find no fault with them. Youmay feel that you would rather spend all of your time hanging overJim's crib--I suppose all young mothers do, and to a certainextent all mothers ought to--but don't, for heaven's sake, leteverything else slip out of your life!"

"I know, I know!" Rachael said breathlessly and quickly, findinghis disapproval almost unendurable. Warren did not often complain;he had never spoken to her in this way before. Her face wasscarlet, and she knew that she wanted to cry. "I know, dear, " sheadded more composedly; "I am afraid I do think too much about Jim;I am afraid"--and Rachael smiled a little pitifully--"that I wouldnever want anyone but you and the boy if I had my own way!Sometimes I wish that we could just slip away from everybody andeverything, and never see these people again!"

If she had expected him to endorse this radical hope she wasdisappointed, for Warren responded briskly: "Yes, and we wouldbore each other to death in two months!"

Rachael was silent, but over the sinking discouragement of herheart she was gallantly forming new resolutions. She would thinkmore of her clothes, she would make a special study of dinners andtheatre parties, she would be seen at the opera at least everyother week. 

"I gave up the London trip just because you weren't enthusiastic, "Warren was saying, with the unmistakable readiness of one whosegrievances have long been classified in his mind. "It's baby--baby--baby! I don't say much--"

"Indeed you don't!" Rachael conceded gratefully. 

"But I think you overdo it, my dear!" finished her husband kindly. Clarence Breckenridge's wife would have assumed a differentattitude during this little talk, but Rachael Gregory felt everyword like a blow upon her quivering heart. She could not protest, she could not ignore. Her love for him made this moment one ofabsolute agony, and it was with the humility of great love thatshe met him more than halfway. 

"You're right, of course, Greg, and it must have been stupid foryou!" Stupid! It seemed even in this moment treason, it seemeddesecration, to use this word of their quiet, wonderful summertogether!

"Well, " he said, mollified, "don't take what I say too much toheart. It's only that I love my wife, and am proud of her, and Idon't want to cut out everything else but Jim's shoes and Mary'sday off!" He came over and kissed her, and Rachael clung to him. 

"Greg, as if I could be angry with you for being jealous of yourson!"

"Trust a woman to put that construction on it, " he said, laughing. "You like to think I'm jealous, don't you?"

"I like anything that makes you seem my devoted adorer, " Rachaelanswered wistfully, and smiling whimsically she added, "and I amgoing to get some new frocks, and give a series of dinners, andwin you all over again!"

"Bully!" approved Doctor Gregory, cheerfully going on with hisdressing. Rachael watched him thoughtfully for a moment before shewent on to her own dressing-room. 

Long afterward she remembered that this conversation marked acertain change in her life; it was never quite glad, confidentmorning again, although for many months no definite element seemedaltered. Alice and old Mrs. Gregory had told her, and all theworld agreed, that the coming of her child would draw her husbandand herself more closely together, but, as Rachael expressed it toherself, it was if she alone moved--moved infinitely nearer to herhusband truly, came to depend upon him, to need him as she hadnever needed him in her life before. But there was always thefeeling that Warren had not moved. He stood where he had alwaysbeen, an eager sympathizer in these new and intense experiences, but untouched and unaltered himself. For her pain, for herresponsibility, for her physical limitations, he had the mostintense tenderness and pity, but the fact remained that he mightsleep through the nights, enjoy his meals, and play with his baby, when the mood decreed, untroubled by personal handicap. 

Rachael, like all women, thought of these things seriously duringthe first year of her child's life, and in February, when Jimmywas beginning to utter his first delicious, stammeringmonosyllables, it was with great gravity that she realized thatmotherhood was approaching her again, that at Thanksgiving shewould have a second child. She was wretchedly languid and illduring the entire spring, and found her mother-in-law's and AliceValentine's calm acceptance of the situation bewildering anddiscouraging. 

"My dear, I don't eat a meal in comfort, the entire time!" Alicesaid cheerfully. "I mind that more than any other phase!"

"But I am such a broken reed!" Rachael smiled ruefully. "I have noenergy!"

The older woman laughed. 

"I know, my dear--haven't I been through it all? Just don't worry, and spare Greg what you can--"

Rachael could do neither. She wanted Warren every minute, and shewanted nobody else. Her favorite hours were when she lay on thecouch, near the fire, playing with his free hand, while he read toher or talked to her. She wanted to hear, over and over again, that he loved no one else; and sometimes she declined invitationswithout even consulting him, "because we're happier by our ownfire than anywhere else, aren't we, dearest?" "Don't tell me aboutyour stupid operations!" she would smile at him, "talk about--US!"

She went over and over the details of her old life with a certainmorbid satisfaction in his constant reassurance. Her marriage hadnot been the cause of Clarence's suicide, nor of Billy'selopement; she had done her share for them both, more than hershare!

Summer came, and she and the baby were comfortably established atHome Dunes. Warren came when he could, perhaps twice a month, andusually without warning. If he promised her the week-ends, shefelt aggrieved to have him miss one, so he wired her every day, and sent her books and fruit, letters and magazines every week, and came at irregular intervals. Alice and George Valentine andtheir children, her garden, her baby, and the ocean she loved sowell must fill this summer for Rachael. 

CHAPTER III

The beautiful Mrs. Gregory made her first appearance in society, after the birth of her second son, on the occasion of Miss LeilaBuckney's marriage to Mr. Parker Hoyt. The continual postponementof this event had been a standing joke among their friends for twoor three years; it took place in early December, at the mostfashionable of all the churches, with a reception and supper tofollow at the most fashionable of all the hotels. Leila naturallylooked tired and excited; she had made a gallant fight for herlover, for long years, and she had won, but as yet the returningtide of comfort and satisfaction had not begun in her life. Parkerhad been a trying fiance; he was a cool-blooded, fishlike littleman; there had been other complications: her father's heavyfinancial losses, her mother's discontent in the lingeringengagement, her sister's persisting state of unmarriedness. 

However, the old aunt was at last dead. Parker had dutifully goneto her side toward the end, and had returned again, duly, bringingthe casket, and escorting Miss Clay. And now Mamma was dressed, and Edith was in a hideously unbecoming green and silver gown, andthe five bridesmaids were duly hatted and frocked in green andsilver, and she was dressed, too, realizing that her new corsetswere a trifle small, and her lace veil too heavy. 

And the disgusting caterer had come to some last-moment agreementwith Papa whereby they were to have the supper without protest, and the florist's insolent man had consented to send the bouquetsat last. The fifteen hundred dreadful envelopes were alladdressed, the back-breaking trying-on of gowns was over, thethree hundred and seventy-one gifts were arranged in two big roomsat the hotel, duly ticketed, and the three hundred and seventy-onedreadful personal notes of thanks had been somehow scribbled offand dispatched. Leila was absolutely exhausted, and felt as paleand pasty as she looked. People were all so stupid and tiresomeand inconsiderate, she said wearily to herself, and the awfulbreakfast would be so long and dull, with everybody saying thesame thing to her, and Parker trying to be funny and simply makinghimself ridiculous! The barbarity of the modern wedding impresseditself vaguely upon the bride as she laughed and talked in astrained and mechanical manner, and whatever they said to her andto her parents, the guests were afterward unanimous in decidingthat poor Leila had been an absolute fright. 

But Mrs. Gregory, in her dark blue suit and her new sables, woneverybody's eyes as she came down the church aisle with herhusband beside her. Her son was not quite a month old, and if shehad not recovered her usual wholesome bloom, there was a refined, almost a spiritual, element in her beauty now that more than madeup for the loss. She wore a fragrant great bunch of violets at herbreast, and under the sweeping brim of her hat her beautiful eyeswere as deeply blue as the flowers. She seemed full of a newwifely and matronly charm to-day, and it was quite in key with thepose that old Mrs. Gregory and young Charles should be constantlyin her neighborhood. Her relatives with her, her babies safe athome, young Mrs. Gregory was the personification of domesticdignity and decorum. 

At the hotel, after the wedding, she was the centre of an admiringgroup, and conscious of her husband's approving eyes, full of herold brilliant charm. All the old friends rallied about her--theyhad not seen much of her since her marriage--and found her moremagnetic than ever. The circumstances of her marriage were blottedout by more recent events now: there was the Chase divorce todiscuss; the Villalonga motor-car accident; Elinor Vanderwall hadastonished everybody a few weeks before by her sudden marriage tomillions in the person of old Peter Pomeroy; now people werebeginning to say that Jeanette Vanderwall might soon be expectedto follow suit with Peter's nephew George. The big, beautifullydecorated reception-room hummed with gay gossip, with the tinklinglaughter of women and the deeper tones of men. 

Caterers' men began to work their way through the crush, bearingindiscriminately trays of bouillon, sandwiches, salads, and ices. The bride, with her surrounding bridesmaids, was still standing atthe far end of the room mechanically shaking hands, and smilinglysaying something dazed and inappropriate to her friends as theyfiled by; but now various groups, scattered about the room, beganto interest themselves in the food. Elderly persons, after lookingvaguely about for seats, disposed of their coffee and salad whilestanding, and soon there was a general breaking-up; the Buckney-Hoyt wedding was almost a thing of the past. 

Rachael, thinking of the impending dinner-hour of little GeraldFairfax Gregory, began to watch the swirling groups for Warren. They could slip away now, surely; several persons had alreadygone. Her heart was in her nursery, where Jim was toddling backand forth tirelessly in the firelight, and where, between thewhite bars of the new crib, was the tiny roll of snowy blanketsthat enclosed the new baby. 

"That's a pretty girl, " she found herself saying involuntarily asher absent eyes were suddenly arrested by the face and figure ofone of the guests. "I wonder who that is?"

The brown eyes she was watching met hers at the same second, andsmiling a little question, their owner came toward her. 

"Hello, Rachael, " the girl said. "How are you after all theseyears?"

"Magsie Clay!" Rachael exclaimed, the look of uncertainty on herface changing to one of pleasure and welcome. "Well, you dearchild, you! How are you? I knew you were here, and yet I couldn'tplace you. You've changed--you're thinner. "

"Oh, much thinner, but then I was an absolute butterball!" MissClay said. "Tell me about yourself. I hear that you're having ababy every ten minutes!"

"Not quite!" Rachael said, laughing, but a little discomposed bythe girl's coolness. "But I have two mighty nice boys, as I'llprove to you if you'll come see me!"

"Don't expect me to rave over babies, because I don't knowanything about them, " said Magsie Clay, with a slow, drawlingmanner that was, Rachael decided, effective. "Do they like toys?"

"Jimmy does, the baby is rather young for tastes of anydescription, " Rachael answered with an odd, new sense of beingsomehow sedate and old-fashioned beside this composed young woman. Miss Clay was not listening. Her brown eyes were moving idly overthe room, and now she suddenly bowed and smiled. 

"There's Greg!" she said. "What a comfort it is to see a man dressas that man dresses!"

"I've been looking for you, " Warren Gregory said, coming up to hiswife, and, noticing the other woman, he added enthusiastically:"Well, Margaret! I didn't know you! Bless my life and heart, howyou children grow up!"

"Children! I'm twenty-two!" Miss Clay said, pouting, with herround brown eyes fixed in childish reproach upon his face. Theyhad been great friends when Warren was with his mother in Paris, nearly four years ago, and now they fell into an animatedrecollection of some of their experiences there with the two oldladies. While they talked Rachael watched Magsie Clay withadmiration and surprise. 

She knew all the girl's history, as indeed everybody m the roomknew it, but to-day it was a little hard to identify the poisedand beautiful young woman who was looking so demurely up fromunder her dark lashes at Warren with the "little Clay girl" of afew years ago. 

Parker Hoyt's aunt, the magnificent old Lady Frothingham, had beenjust enough of an invalid for the twenty years preceding her deathto need a nurse or a companion, or a social secretary, or someonewho was a little of all three. The great problem was to find theright person, and for a period that actually extended itself overyears the right person was not to be found, and the old lady wasconsequently miserable and unmanageable. 

Then came the advent of Mrs. Clay, a dark, silent, dignifiedwidow, who more than met all requirements, and who became acompanion figure to the little, fussing, over-dressed old lady. From the day she first arrived at the Frothingham mansion Mrs. Clay never failed her old employer for so much as a single hour. For fifteen years she managed the house, the maids, and, if thetruth were known, the old lady herself, with a quiet, irresistibleefficiency. But it was early remarked that she did not manage hersmall daughter with her usual success. Magsie was a fascinatingbaby, and a beautiful child, quicker of speech than thought, witha lovely little heart-shaped face framed in flying locks of tawnyhair. But she was unmanageable and strong-willed, and possessed ofa winning and insolent charm hard to refuse. 

Her mother in her silent, repressed way realized that Magsie wasnot having the proper upbringing, but her own youth had been hardand dark, and it was perhaps the closest approach to joy that sheever knew when Magsie glowing under her wide summer hats, orradiant in new furs, rushed up to demand something preposterousand extravagant of her mother, and was not denied. 

She was a stout, conceited sixteen-year-old when her mother died, so spoiled and so self-centred that old Lady Frothingham had beenheard more than once to mutter that the young lady could get downfrom her high horse and make herself useful, or she could march. But that was six years ago. And now--this! Magsie had evidentlydecided to make herself useful, but she had managed to makeherself beautiful and fascinating as well. She was in mourning nowfor the good-hearted old benefactress who had left her a nest-eggof some fifteen thousand dollars, and Rachael noticed withapproval that it was correct mourning: simple, severe, Parisian. Nothing could have been more becoming to the exquisite bloom ofthe young face than the soft, clear folds of filmy veiling; underthe small, close-set hat there showed a ripple of rich goldenhair. The watching woman thought that she had never seen suchself-possession; at twenty-two it was almost uncanny. Themodulated, bored young voice, the lazily lifted, indifferent youngeyes, the general air of requesting an appreciative world to beamusing and interesting, or to expect nothing of Miss Magsie Clay, these things caused Rachael a deep, hidden chuckle of amusement. Little Magsie had turned out to be something of a personality!Why, she was even employing a distinct and youthfully insolent airof keeping Warren by her side merely on sufferance--Warren, thecleverest and finest man in the room, who was more than twice herage!

"To think that she is younger than Charlotte!" Rachael ejaculatedto herself, catching a glimpse of Charlotte, towed by her mother, uncomfortable, ignored, blinking through her glasses. And when sheand Warren were in the car homeward bound, she spoke admiringly ofMagsie. "Did you ever see any one so improved, Warren? Really, she's quite extraordinary!"

Warren smiled absently. 

"She's a terribly spoiled little thing, " he remarked. "She's outfor a rich man, and she'll get him!"

"I suppose so, " Rachael agreed, casting about among the men sheknew for an appropriate partner for Miss Clay. 

"Suppose so!" he echoed in good-humored scorn. "Don't you foolyourself, she'll get what she's after! There isn't a man alivethat wouldn't fall for that particular type!"

"Warren, do you suppose so?" his wife asked in surprise. 

"Well, watch and see!"

"Perhaps--" Rachael's interest wandered. "What time have you?" sheasked. 

He glanced at his watch. "Six-ten. "

"Six-TEN! Oh, my poor abused baby--and I should have been here atquarter before six!" She was all mother as she ran upstairs. Hadhe been crying? Oh, he had been crying! Poor little old duck of ahungry boy, did he have a bad, wicked mother that never rememberedhim! He was in her arms in an instant, and the laughing maidcarried away her hat and wrap without disturbing his meal. Rachaelleaned back in the big chair, panting comfortably, as muchrelieved over his relief as he was. The wedding was forgotten. Shewas at home again; she could presently put this baby down and havea little interval of hugging and 'tories with Jimmy. 

"You'll get your lovely dress all mussed, " said old Mary in highapproval. 

"Never mind, Mary!" her mistress said in luxurious ease before thefire, "there are plenty of dresses!"

A week later Warren came in, in the late afternoon, to say that hehad met Miss Clay downtown, and they had had tea together. Shesuggested tea, and he couldn't well get out of it. He would havetelephoned Rachael had he fancied she would care to come. She hadbeen out? That was what he thought. But how about a little dinnerfor Magsie? Did she think it would be awfully stupid?

"No, she's not stupid, " Rachael said cordially. "Let's do it!"

"Oh, I don't mean stupid for us, " Warren hastened to explain. "Imean stupid for her!"

"Why should it be stupid for her?" Rachael looked at him insurprise. 

"Well, she's awfully young, and she's getting a lot of attention, and perhaps she'd think it a bore!"

"I don't imagine Magsie Clay would find a dinner here in her honora bore, " Rachael said in delicate scorn. "Why, think who she is, Warren--a nurse's daughter! Her father was--I don't know what--anenlisted man, who rose to be a sergeant!"

"I don't believe it!" he said flatly. 

"It's true, Warren. I've known that for years--everybody knowsit!"

"Well, " Warren Gregory said stubbornly, "she's making a great hitjust the same. She's going up to the Royces' next week for theBowditch theatricals, and she's asked to the Pinckard dinnerdance. She may not go on account of her mourning. "

"Her mourning is rather absurd under the circumstances, " Rachaelsaid vaguely, antagonized against anyone he chose to defend. "Andif people choose to treat her as if she were Mrs. Frothingham'sdaughter instead of what she really is, it's nice for Magsie! ButI don't see why we should. "

"We might because she is such a nice, simple girl, " Warrensuggested, "and because we like her! I'm not trying to keep in thecurrent; I've no social axe to grind; I merely suggested it, andif you don't want to--"

"Oh, of course, if you put it that way!" Rachael said with a faintshrug. . "I'll get hold of some eligibles--we'll have Charlie, andhave rather a youthful dinner!"

Warren, who was shaving, was silent for a few minutes, then hesaid thoughtfully:

"I don't imagine that Charlie is the sort of person who willinterest her. She may be only twenty-two, but she is older thanmost girls in things like that. She's had more offers now than youcould shake a stick at--"

"She told you about them?"

"Well, in a general way, yes--that is, she doesn't want to marry, and she hates the usual attitude, that a lot of college kids haveto be trotted out for her benefit!"

This having been her own exact attitude a few seconds before, Rachael flushed a little resentfully. 

"What DOES she want to do?"

Warren shaved on for a moment in silence, then with a ratherimportant air he said impulsively:

"Well, I'll tell you, although she told me in confidence, and ofcourse nothing may come of it. You won't say anything about it, ofcourse? She wants to go on the stage. "

"Really!" said Rachael, who, for some reason she could not at thismoment define, was finding the conversation extraordinarilydistasteful. 

"Yes, she's had it in mind for years, " Warren pursued withsimplicity. "And she's had some good offers, too. You can see thatshe's the kind of girl that would make an immediate hit, thatwould get across the footlights, as it were. Of course, it alldepends upon how hard she's willing to work, but I believe she'sgot a big future before her!"

There was a short silence while he finished the operation ofshaving, and Rachael, who was busy with the defective clasp of astring of pearls, bent absorbedly over the microscopic ring andswivel. 

"Let's think about the dinner, " she said presently. She found thathe had already planned almost all the details. 

When it took place, about ten days later, she resolutely steeledherself for an experience that promised to hold no specialenjoyment for her. Her love for her husband made her find in hisenthusiasm for Magsie something a little pitiful and absurd. Magsie was only a girl, a rather shallow and stupid girl at that, yet Warren was as excited over the arrangements for the dinner asif she had been the most important of personages. If it had beensome other dinner--the affair for the English ambassador, or thegreat London novelist, or the fascinating Frenchman who hadpainted Jimmy--she told herself, it would have beencomprehensible! But Warren, like all great men, had his simple, almost childish, phases, and this was one of them!

She watched her guest of honor, when the evening came, with apuzzled intensity. Magsie was in her glory, sparkling, chattering, almost noisy. Her exquisite little white silk gown was so low inthe waist, and so short in the skirt, that it was almost no gownat all, yet it was amazingly smart. She had touched her lips withred, and her eyelids were cunningly given just a hint ofelongation with a black pencil. Her bright hair was pushedseverely from her face, and so trimly massed and netted as not toshow its beautiful quantity, and yet, somehow, one knew thequantity was there in all its gold glory. 

Rachael, magnificent in black-and-white, was ashamed of herselffor the instinctive antagonism that she began to feel toward thisyoung creature. It was not the fact of Magsie's undeniable youthand beauty that she resented, but it was her affectations, herfull, pouting lips, her dimples, her reproachful upward glances. Even these, perhaps, in themselves, she did not resent, she mused;it was their instant effect upon Warren and, to a greater orlesser degree, upon all the other men present, that filled herwith a sort of patient scorn. Rachael wondered what Warren'sfeeling would have been had his wife suddenly picked out somecallow youth still in college for her admiring laughter andearnest consideration. 

It was sacrilege to think it. It was always absurd, an older man'skindly interest in, and affection for, a pretty young girl, butwhat harm? He thought her beautiful, and charming, and talented-well, she was those things. It was January now, in March they weregoing to California, then would come dear Home Dunes, and beforethe summer was over Magsie would be safely launched, or married, and the whole thing but an episode! Warren was her husband and thefather of her two splendid boys; there was tremendous reassurancein the thought. 

But that evening, and throughout the weeks that followed, Rachaelmused somewhat sadly upon the extraordinary susceptibility of thehuman male. Magsie's methods were those of a high-school belle. She pouted, she dimpled, she dispensed babyish slaps, she lapsedinto rather poorly imitated baby talk. She was sometimesmysterious and tragic, according to her own lights, her voicedeep, her eyes sombre; at other times she was all girl, wild fordancing and gossip and matinees. She would widen her eyes demurelyat some older woman, plaintively demanding a chaperon, all thesebad men were worrying her to death; she had nicknames for all themen, and liked to ask their wives if there was any harm in that?Like Billy, and like Charlotte, she never spoke of anyone butherself, but Billy was a mere beginner beside Magsie, and poorCharlotte like a denizen of another world. 

Magsie always scored. There was an air of refinement and proprietyabout the little gypsy that saved her most daring venture, and ina society bored to death with its own sameness she became aninstant favorite. Everyone said that "there was no harm inMagsie, " she was the eagerly heralded and loudly welcomed cap-and-bells wherever she went. 

Early in March there was an entertainment given in one of the bighotels for some charity, and Miss Clay, who appeared in a daintylittle French comedy, the last number on the program, captured allthe honors. Her companion player, Dr. Warren Gregory, who in theplay had taken the part of her guardian, and, with his templestouched with gray, his peruke, and his satin coat and breeches, had been a handsome foil for her beauty, was declared excellent, but the captivating, piquant, enchanting Magsie was the favoriteof the hour. Before the hot, exciting, memorable evening was overthe rumor flew about that she had signed a contract to appear withBowman, the great manager, in the fall. 

The whole experience was difficult for Rachael, but no onesuspected it, and she would have given her life cheerfully to keepher world from suspecting. Long before the rehearsals for thelittle play were over she knew the name of that new passion thatwas tearing and gnawing at her heart. No use to tell herself thatif Magsie WAS deeply admired by Warren, if Magsie WAS beautiful, if Magsie WAS constantly in his thoughts, way, she, Rachael, wasstill his wife; his home, his sons, his name were hers! She wasjealous--jealous--jealous of Magsie Clay. 

She could not bear even the smothering thought of a dividedkingdom. Professionally, socially, the world might claim him; butno one but herself should ever claim even one one-hundredth ofthat innermost heart of his that had been all her own! The thoughtpierced her vitally, and she felt in sick discouragement that shecould not fight, she could not meet his cruelty with new cruelty. Her very beauty grew dimmed, and the old flashing wit and radiantself-confidence were clouded for a time. When she was alone withher husband she felt constrained and serious, her heart asmouldering furnace of resentment and pain. 

"What do you think of this, dearie?" he asked eagerly oneafternoon. "We got talking about California at the Princes' lastnight, and it seems that Peter and Elinor plan to go; only notbefore the first week in April. Now, that would suit me as well asnext week, if it wouldn't put you out. Could you manage it? ThePomeroys take their car, and an awfully nice crowd; just you andI--if we'll go--Peter and Elinor, and perhaps the Oliphants, and abeau for Magsie!"

Rachael had been waiting for Magsie's name. But there seemed to benothing to say. She rose to the situation gallantly. She put theboys in the care of their grandmother and the faithful Mary, withDoctor Valentine's telephone number pasted prominently on thenursery wall. She bought herself charming gowns and hats, she madeherself the most delightful travelling companion that ever sevenhot and spoiled men and women were fortunate enough to find. Wheneveryone, even Magsie, was bored and cross, upset by close air, bylate hours, by unlimited candy and cocktails, Mrs. Gregory wouldappear from her stateroom, dainty, interested, ready for bridge orgossip, full of enthusiasm for the scenery and for the company inwhich she found herself. When she and Warren were alone she oftentried to fancy herself merely an acquaintance again, with anacquaintance's anxiety to meet his mood and interest him. She madeno claims, she resented nothing, and she schooled herself topraise Magsie, to quote her, and to discuss her. 

The result was all that she could have hoped. After the fiveweeks' trip Warren was heard to make the astonishing comment thatMagsie was a shallow little thing, and Rachael, hungrily kissingher boys' sweet, bewildered faces, and laughing and cryingtogether as Mary gave her an account of every hour of her absence, felt more than rewarded for the somewhat sordid scheme and thehumiliating effort. Little Gerald was in short clothes now, a roseof a baby, and Jimmy at the irresistible age when every stammeredword and every changing expression had new charm. 

CHAPTER IV

Ten days later, in the midst of her preparations to leave the cityfor Clark's Hills, Rachael was summoned to the telephone by thenews of a serious change in young Charlie Gregory's condition. Charlie had been ill for perhaps a week; kept at home and babiedby his grandmother and Miss Cannon, the nurse, visited daily byhis adored Aunt Rachael, and nearly as often by the uproariousyoung Gregorys, and duly spoiled by every maid in the house. Warren went in to see him often in the evenings, for trivial ashis illness was, all the members of his immediate family agreedlater that there had been in it, from the beginning, somethingvaguely alarming and menacing. 

He was a quiet, peculiar, rather friendless youth at twenty-six;he had never had "girls, " like the other boys, and, while he readbooks incessantly, Rachael knew it to be rather from lonelinessthan any other motive, as his silence was from shyness rather thanreserve. His dying was as quiet as his living, between a silentluncheon in the gloomy old dining-room when nobody seemed ableeither to eat or speak, and a dreadful dinner hour when MissCannon sobbed unobtrusively, Warren and Rachael talked in lowtones, and the chairs at the head and foot of the table wereuntenanted. 

Only a day or two later his grandmother followed him, and Rachaeland her husband went through the sombre days like two persons inan oppressive dream. Great grief they did not naturally feel, forWarren's curious self-absorption extended even to his relationshipwith his mother, and Charlie had always been one of theunnecessary, unimportant figures of which there are a few in everyfamily. But the events left a lasting mark upon Rachael's life. She had grown really to love the old woman, and had felt a certainpitying affection for Charlie, too. He had been a good, gentle, considerate boy always, and it was hard to think of him as goingbefore life had really begun for him. 

On the morning of the day he died an incident had occurred, orrather two had occurred, that even then filled her with vaguediscomfort, and that she was to remember for many days to come. 

She had been crossing the great, dark entrance hall, late in themorning, on some errand to the telephone, or to the servicedepartment of the house, her heart burdened by the sombre shadowof death that already lay upon them all, when the muffled street-door bell had rung, and the butler, red eyed, had admitted twowomen. Rachael, caught and reluctantly glancing toward them, hadbeen surprised to recognize Charlotte Haviland and old Fanny. 

"Charlotte!" she said, coming toward the girl. And at her low, tense tone, Charlotte had begun to cry. 

"Aunt Rachael"--the old name came naturally after seven years--"you'll think I'm quite crazy coming here this way"--Charlotte, asalways, was justifying her shy little efforts at living--"but M'mawas busy, and"--the old, nervous gasp--"and it seemed onlyfriendly to come and--and inquire--"

"Don't cry, dear!" said Rachael's rich, kind voice. She put a handupon Charlotte's shoulder. "Did you want to ask for Charlie?"

"I know how odd, how very odd it must look, " said Charlotte, managing a wet smile, "and my crying--perfectly absurd--I can'tthink why I'm so silly!"

"We've all been pretty near crying, ourselves, this morning, "Rachael said, not looking at her, but rather seeming to explain tothe sympathetic yet pleasurably thrilled Fanny. "Dear boy, he isvery ill. Doctor Hamilton has just been here; and he tells usfrankly that it is only a question of a few hours now--"

At this poor Charlotte tried to compose her face to the merelysorrowful and shocked expression of a person justified in herfriendly concern, but succeeded only in giving Mrs. Gregory aquivering look of mortal hurt. 

"I was afraid so, " she stammered huskily. "Elfrida Hamilton toldme. I was so--sorry--"

Rachael began to perceive that this was a great adventure, atragic and heroic initiative for Charlotte. Poor Charlotte, red-eyed behind her strong glasses, the bloom of youth gone from herface, was perhaps touching this morning, the pinnacle of the fewstrong emotions her life was to know. 

"How well did you know Charlie, dear?" asked Rachael when Fannywas for the moment out of hearing and they were in the dark, rep-draped reception-room. She had asked Charlotte to sit down, butCharlotte nervously had said that she could stay but anotherminute. 

"Oh, n-n-not very well, Aunt Rachael--that is, we didn't see eachother often, since"--Rachael knew since when, and liked Charlottefor the clumsy substitute--"since Billy was married. I knowCharlie called, but M'ma didn't tell me until weeks later, andthen we were on the ocean. We met now and then, and once hetelephoned, and I think he would have liked to see me, but M'mafelt so strongly--there was no way. And then last summer--we h-h-happened to meet, he and I, at Jane Cook's wedding, and we hadquite a talk. I knew M'ma would be angry, but it just seemed as ifI couldn't think of it then. And we talked of the things we liked, you know, the sort of house we both liked--not like other people'shouses!" Charlotte's plain young face had grown bright with therecollection, but now her voice sank lifelessly again. "But M'mamade me promise never to speak to him again, and of course Ipromised, " she said dully. 

"I see. " Rachael was silent. There seemed to be nothing to say. 

"I suppose I couldn't--speak to him a moment, Aunt Rachael?"Charlotte was scarlet, but she got the words out bravely. 

"Oh, my dear, he wouldn't know you. He doesn't know any of us now. He just lies there, sometimes sighing a little--"

Charlotte was as pale now as she had been rosy before, her liptrembled, and her whole face seemed to be suffused with tears. 

"I see, " she said in turn. "Thank you, Aunt Rachael, thanks everso much. I--I wish you'd tell his grandmother how sorry I am. I--suppose Fanny and I had better go now. "

But before she went Rachael opened her arms, and Charlotte cameinto them, and cried bitterly for a few minutes. 

"Poor little girl!" said the older woman tenderly. "Poor littlegirl!"

"I always loved you, " gulped Charlotte, "and I would have come tosee you, if M'ma--And of course it was nothing but the merestfriendship b-between Charlie and me, only we--we always seemed tolike each other. "

And Charlotte, her romance ended, wiped her eyes and blew hernose, and went away. Rachael went slowly upstairs. 

Late that same afternoon, as she and the trained nurse weredreamily keeping one of the long sick-watches, she looked at thepatient, and was surprised to see his rather insignificant eyesfixed earnestly upon her. Instantly she went to the bedside andknelt down. 

"What is it, Charlie-boy?" she asked, in the merest rich, tenderessence of a tone. The sick eyes broke over her distressedly. Shecould see the fine dew of perspiration at his waxen temples, andthe lean hand over which she laid her own was cool after all thesefeverish days, unwholesomely cool. 

"Aunt Rachael--" The customs of earth were still strong when hecould waste so much precious breath upon the unnecessary address. The nurse hovered nervously near, but did not attempt to silencehim. "Going fast, " he whispered. 

"It will be rest, Charlie-boy, " she answered, tears in her eyes. 

He smiled, and drifted into that other world so near our own for afew moments. Then she started at Charlotte's name. 

"Charlotte, " he said in a ghostly whisper, "said she would like ahouse all green-and pink-with roses--"

Rachael was instantly tense. Ah, to get hold of poor starvedlittle Charlotte, to give her these last precious seconds, to lether know he had thought of her!

"What about Charlotte, dear, dear boy?" she asked eagerly. 

"I thought--it would be so pleasant--there--" he said, smiling. Heclosed his eyes. She heard the little prayer that he had learnedin his babyhood for this hour. Then there was silence. Silence. 

Silence. Rachael looked fearfully at the nurse. A few minuteslater she went to tell his grandmother, who, with two gravesisters sitting beside her, had been lying down since thereligious rites of an hour or two ago. Rachael and the smaller, rosy-faced nun helped the stiff, stricken old lady to her feet, and it was with Rachael's arm about her that she went to hergrandson's side. 

That night old Mrs. Gregory turned to her daughter-in-law andsaid: "You're good, Rachael. Someone prayed for you long ago;someone gave you goodness. Don't forget--if you ever need--to turnto prayer. I don't ask you to do any more. It was for James tomake his sons Christians, and James did not do so. But promise mesomething, Rachael: if James--hurts you, if he fails you--promiseme that you will forgive him!"

"I promise, " Rachael said huskily, her heart beating quick withvague fright. Mrs. Gregory was in her deep armchair, she lookedold and broken to-night, far older than she would look a few dayslater when she lay in her coffin. Rachael had brought her a cup ofhot bouillon, and had knelt, daughter fashion, to see that shedrank it, and now the thin old hand clutched her shoulder, and theeager old eyes were close to her face. 

"I have made mistakes, I have had every sorrow a woman can know, "said old Mrs. Gregory, "but prayer has never failed me, and when Igo, I believe I will not be afraid!" "I have made mistakes, too, "Rachael said, strangely stirred, "and for the boys' sake, forWarren's sake, I want to be--wise!"

The thin old hand patted hers. Old Mrs. Gregory lay with closedeyes, no flicker of life in her parchment-colored face. "Prayabout it!" she said in a whisper. She patted Rachael's hands foranother moment, but she did not speak again. 

At the funeral, kneeling by Warren's side in the great cathedral, her pale face more lovely than ever in a setting of fresh black, Rachael tried for the first time in her life to pray. 

They were rich beyond any dream or need now. Rachael could hardlyhave believed that so great a change in her fortune could make solittle change in her feeling. A sudden wave of untimely heat smotethe city, and it was hastily decided that the boys and theirmother must get to the shore, leaving all the details of settlinghis mother's estate to Warren. In the autumn Rachael would makethose changes in the old house of which she had dreamed so manyyears ago. Warren was not to work too hard, and was to come tothem for every week-end. 

He took them down himself in the car, Rachael beside him on thefront seat, her baby in her arms, Martin and Mary, with Jim, inthe tonneau. Home Dunes had been opened and aired; luncheon waswaiting when they got there. Rachael felt triumphant, powerful. Between their mourning and Warren's unexpected businessresponsibilities she would have a summer to her liking. 

He went away the next day, and Rachael began a series of cheerfulletters. She tried not to reproach him when a Saturday night camewithout bringing him, she schooled herself to read, to take walks, to fight depression and loneliness. She and Alice practised pianoduets, studied Italian, made sick calls in the village, and sewedfor the babies of dark's Hills and Quaker Bridge. About twice amonth, usually together, the two went up to the city for a day'sshopping. Then George and Warren met them, and they dined andperhaps went to the theatre together. It was on one of theseoccasions that Rachael learned that Magsie Clay was in town. 

"Working hard--too hard, " said Warren in response to herquestions. "She's rehearsing already for October. "

"Warren! In all this heat?"

"Yes, and she looks pulled down, poor kid!"

"You've seen her, then?"

"Oh, I see her now and then. Betty Bowditch had her to dinner, andnow and then she and I go to tea, and she tells me about hertroubles, her young men, and the other women in the play!"

"I wonder if she wouldn't come down to us for a week?" Rachaelsaid pleasantly. Warren brightened enthusiastically. A littleocean air would do Magsie worlds of good. 

Magsie, lunching with Rachael at Rachael's club the followingweek, was prettily appreciative. 

"I would just love to come!" she said gratefully. "I'll bring mybathing suit, and live in the water! But, Rachael, it can only befrom Friday night until Monday morning. Perhaps Greg will run medown in the car, and bring me up again?"

"What else would I do?" Warren said, smiling. 

Rachael fixed the date. On the following Friday night she metWarren and Magsie at the gate, at the end of the long run. Warrenwas quite his old, delightful self; the boys, perfection. Alicegave a dinner party, and Alice's brother did not miss theopportunity of a flirtation with Magsie. The visit, for everyonebut Rachael, was a great success. 

The little actress and Rachael's husband were on friendly, evenintimate, terms; Magsie showed Warren a letter, Warren murmuredadvice; Magsie reached a confident little brown hand to him fromthe raft; Warren said, "Be careful, dear!" when she sprang up toleap from the car. Well, said Rachael bravely, no harm in that!Warren was just the big, sweet, simple person to be flattered byMagsie's affection. How could she help liking him?

She went to the gate again, on Monday morning this time, to saygood-bye. Magsie was tucked in trimly in Rachael's place besideRachael's husband; her gold hair glinted under a smart little hat;gloves, silk stockings, and gown were all of the becoming creamytan she wore so much. 

"Saturday night?" Rachael said to Warren. 

"Possibly not, dear. I can tell better later in the week. "

"You don't know how we slaves envy you, Rachael!" Magsie said. "When Greg and I are gasping away in some roof-garden, having ourmild little iced teas, we'll think of you down here on theglorious ocean!"

"We're a mutual consolation league!" Warren said with anappreciative laugh. 

"He laughs, " Magsie said, "but, honestly, I don't know where I'dbe without Greg. You don't know how kind he is to me, Rachael!"

"He's kind to everyone, " Rachael smiled. 

"I don't have to TELL you how much I've enjoyed this!" Magsieadded gratefully. 

"Do it any other time you can!" Rachael waved them out of sight. She stood at the gate, in the fragrant, warm summer morning, for along time after they were gone. 

In the late summer, placidly wasting her days on the sands withthe two boys, a new experience befell Rachael. She had hoped, atabout the time of Jimmy's third birthday, to present him and hislittle brother with a sister. Now the hope vanished, and Rachael, awed and sad, set aside a tiny chamber in her heart for the dream, and went on about her life sobered and made thoughtful over thegreat possibilities that are wrapped in every human birth. Warrenhad warned her that she must be careful now, and, charmed at hisconcern for her grief and shock, she rested and saved herselfwherever she could. 

But autumn came, and winter came, and she did not grow strong. Itbecame generally understood that Mrs. Gregory was not going aboutthis season, and her friends, when they came to call in WashingtonSquare, were apt to find her comfortably established on the widecouch in one of the great rooms that were still unchanged, with anurse hovering in the background, and the boys playing before thefire. Rachael would send the children away with Mary, ring fortea, and chatter vivaciously with her guests, later retailing allthe gossip to Warren when he came to sit beside her. Often she gotup and took her place at the table, and once or twice a month, after a quiet day, was tucked into the motor car by the watchfulMiss Snow, and went to the theatre or opera, to be broughtcarefully home again at eleven o'clock, and given into Miss Snow'scare again. 

She was not at all unhappy, the lessening of social responsibilitywas a real relief, and Warren's solicitude and sympathy were atonic of which she drank deep, night and morning. His big warmhands, his smile, the confidence of his voice, these thrilled andrejuvenated her continually. 

The boys were a delight to her. In their small rumpled pajamasthey came into her room every morning, dewy from sleep, full ofdelicious plans for the day. Jim was a masterful baby whosecontinually jerking head was sure to bump his mother if sheattempted too much hugging, but dark-eyed, grave little Derry was"cuddly"; he would rest his shining head contentedly for minutestogether on his mother's breast, and when she lifted him from hiscrib late at night for a last kiss, his warm baby arms wouldcircle her neck, and his rich little voice murmur luxuriously, "Hug Derry. "

Muffled rosily in gaiters and furs, or running about her room intheir white, rosetted slippers, with sturdy arms and knees bare, or angelic in their blue wrappers after the evening bath, theywere equally enchanting to their mother. 

"It's a marvel to see how you can be so patient!" Warren said oneevening when he was dressing for an especially notable dinner, andRachael, in her big Chinese coat, was watching the processcontentedly from the couch in his upstairs sitting-room. 

"Well, that's the odd thing about ill health, Greg--you haven'tany chance to answer back, " she answered thoughtfully. "If moneycould make me well, or if effort could, I'd get well, of course!But there seem to be times when you simply are SICK. It's anextraordinary experience to me; it's extraordinary to lie here, and think of all the hundreds of thousands of other women who aresick, just simply and quietly laid low with no by-your-leave! Ofcourse, my being ill doesn't make much trouble; the boys are caredfor, the house goes on, and I don't suffer! But suppose we werepoor, and the children needed me, and you couldn't afford a nurse--then what? For I'd have to collapse and lie here just the same!"

"It's no snap for me, " Warren grumbled after a silence. "Gosh! Iwill be glad when you're well--and when the damn nurse is out ofthe house!"

"Warren, I thought you liked Miss Snow!"

"Well, I do, I suppose--in a way. But I don't like her forbreakfast, lunch, and dinner--so everlastingly sweet and fresh!'I declare I believe my watch is losing time--this is the thirdtime this week I've been late!'"

This was said in exactly Miss Snow's tone, and Rachael laughed. 

But when he was gone a deep depression fell upon her. Dear oldboy, it was not much of a life for him, going about alone, sittingdown to his meals with only a trained nurse for company! Shut awayso deliciously from the world with her husband and sons, enjoyingthe very helplessness that forced her to lean so heavily upon him, she had forgotten how hard it was for Greg!

Yet how could she get well when the stubborn weakness and languorpersisted, when her nights were so long and sleepless, herappetite so slight, her strength so quickly exhausted?

"When do you think I will get well, Miss Snow?" she would ask. 

"Come, now, we're not going to bother our heads about THAT, " MissSnow would say cheerfully. "Why, you're not sick! You've just gotto rest and take care of yourself, that's all! Dear ME, if youwere suffering every minute of the time, you might have somethingto grumble about!"

Doctor Valentine was equally unsatisfactory, although Rachaelloved the simple, homely man so much that she could not be vexedby his kindly vagueness:

"These things are slow to fight, Rachael, " said George Valentine. "Alice had just such a fight years ago. When the human machineryruns down, there's nothing for it but patience! You did too muchlast winter, nursing the baby until you left for California, andthen only the hot summer between that and September! Just goslow!"

Perhaps once a month Magsie came in to see Rachael, ready to pourtea, to flirt with any casual caller, or to tickle the roaringbaby with the little fox head on her muff. She had been playing ina minor part in a successful production. Among all the callers whocame and went perhaps Magsie was the most at home in the Gregoryhouse--a harmless little affectionate creature, unimportant, butalways welcome. 

Slowly health and strength came back, and one by one Rachael tookup the dropped threads of her life. The early spring found herapparently herself again, but there was a touch of gray here andthere in her dark hair, and Elinor and Judy told each other thather spirits were not the same. 

They did not know what Rachael knew, that there was a change inWarren, so puzzling, so disquieting, that his wife's convalescencewas delayed by many a wakeful hour and many a burst of secrettears on his account. She could not even analyze it, much less wasshe fit to battle with it with her old splendid strength andsanity. 

His general attitude toward her, in these days, was one ofpaternal and brisk kindliness. He liked her new gown, he didn'tcare much for that hat, she didn't look awfully well, bettertelephone old George, it wouldn't do to have her sick again! Yes, he was going out, unless she wanted him for something? She wasreminded hideously of her old days with Clarence. 

Shaken and weak still, she fought gallantly against the pain andbewilderment of the new problem. She invited the persons he likedto the house, she effaced her own claim, she tried to get him totalk of his cases. Sometimes, as the spring ripened, she plannedwhole days with him in the car. They would go up to Ossining andsee the Perrys, or they would go to Jersey and spend the day withDoctor Cheseborough. 

Perhaps Warren accepted these suggestions, and they had acloudless day. Or when Sunday morning came, and the boys, coatedand capped, were eager to start, he might evade them. 

"I wonder if you'll feel badly, Petty, if I don't go?"

"Oh, WARREN!"

"Well, my dear, I've got some work to do. I ought to look up thatmeningitis case--the Italian child. Louise'll give me a bite oflunch--"

"But, dearest, that spoils our day!" Rachael would fling her wrapsdown, and face him ruefully. "How can I go alone!_ I don't wantto. And it's SUCH a day, and the babies are so sweet--"

"There's no reason why you and the children shouldn't go. " She hadcome to know that mild, almost reproachful, tone. 

"Oh, but Warren, that spoils it all!"

"I'm sorry!"

Rachael would shut her lips firmly over protest. At best she mightwring from him a reluctant change of mind and an annoyed offer ofcompany which she must from sheer pride decline. At worst shewould be treated with a dignified silence--the peevish andexacting woman who could not understand. 

So she would go slowly down to the car, to Mary beaming besideMartin in the front seat, to the delicious boys tumbling about inthe back, eager for Mother. With one on each side of her, aretaining hand on the little gaiters, she would wave the attentivehusband and father an amiable farewell. The motor car would wheelabout in the bare May sunshine, the river would be a ripple ofdancing blue waves, morning riders would canter on the bridle-path, and white-frocked babies toddle along the paths. Such amorning for a ride, if only Warren were there! But Rachael wouldtry to enjoy her run, and would eat Mrs. Perry's or Mrs. Cheseborough's fried chicken and home-made ices with graciousenthusiasm; everyone was quite ready to excuse Warren; hisbeautiful wife was the more popular of the two. 

He was always noticeably affectionate when they got home. Rachael, her color bright from sun and wind, would entertain him with aspirited account of the day while she dressed. 

"I wish I'd gone with you; I will next time!" he invariably said. 

On the next Sunday she might try another experience. No plans to-day. The initiative should be left to him. Breakfast would dragalong until after ten o'clock, and Mary would appear with a lowquestion. Were the boys to go out to the Park? Rachael wouldpause, undecided. Well, yes, Mary might take them, but bring themin early, in case Doctor Gregory wished to take them somewhere. 

And ten minutes later he might jump up briskly. Well! how about alittle run up to Pelham Manor, wonderful morning--could she go asshe was? Rachael would beg for ten minutes; she might comedownstairs in seven to find him wavering. 

"Would you mind if we made it a pretty short run, dear, and thenif I dropped you here and went on down to the hospital for alittle while?"

"Why, Warren, it was your suggestion, dear! Why take a drive atall if you don't feel like it!"

"Oh, it's not that--I'm quite willing to. Where are the kids?"

"Mary took them out. They've got to be back for naps at half-pasteleven, you see. "

"I see. " He would look at his watch. "Well, I'll tell you what Ithink I'll do. I'll change and shave now--" A pause. His voicewould drop vaguely. "What would YOU like to do?" he might suggestamiably. 

Such a conversation, so lacking in his old definite brisknesswhere their holidays were concerned, would daunt Rachael with asense of utter forlornness. Sometimes she offered a plan, but itwas invariably rejected. There were friends who would have beendelighted at an unexpected lunch call from the Gregorys, butWarren yawned and shuddered negatives when she mentioned theirnames. In the end, he would go off to the hospital for an hour ortwo, and later would telephone to his wife to explain a longerabsence: he had met some of the boys at the club and they wererather urging him to stay to lunch; he couldn't very well decline. 

"Would you like to have me come down and join you anywhere later?"his wife might ask in the latter case. 

"No, thank you, no. I may come straight home after lunch, and inthat case I'd cross you. Boys all right?"

"Lovely. " Rachael would sit at the telephone desk, after she hadhung up the receiver, wrapped in bitter thought, a bewildered painat her heart. She never doubted him; to-morrow good, old, homely, trustworthy George Valentine, whose wife and children werevisiting Alice's mother in Boston, would speak of the bridge gameat the club. But with his wife waiting for him at home, his wifewho lived all the six days of the week waiting for this seventhday, why did he need the society of his men friends?

A commonplace retaliation might have suggested itself to her, butthere was no fighting instinct in Rachael now. She did not want topique him, to goad him, to flirt with him. He should be hershonorably and openly, without devices, without intrigue. Stirredto the deeps of her being by wifehood and motherhood, by herpassionate love for her husband and children, it was a humiliatingthought that she must coquette with and flatter other men. As amatter of fact, she found it difficult to talk with any interestof anything except Warren, his work and his plans, of Jimmy andDerry, and perhaps of Home Dunes. If it were a matter of necessityshe might always turn to the new plays and books, the opera of theseason, or the bill for tenement requirements or juveniledelinquents, but mere personalities and intrigue she knew no more. These matters were all of secondary interest to her now; it seemedto Rachael that the time had come when mere personalities, whenbridge and cocktails and dancing and half-true scandals were notsatisfying. 

"Warren, " she said one evening when the move to Home Dunes wasnear, "should you be sorry if I began to go regularly to churchagain?"

"No, " he said indifferently, giving her rather a surprised glanceover his book. "Churchgoing coming in again?"

"It's not that, " Rachael said, smiling over a little sense ofpain, "but I--I like it. I want the boys to think that theirmother goes to church and prays--and I really want to do itmyself!"

He smiled, as always a little intolerant of what sounded likesentiment. 

"Oh, come, my dear! Long before the boys are old enough toremember it you'll have given it up again!"

"I hope not, " Rachael said, sighing. "I wish I had never stopped. I wish I were one of these mild, nice, village women who put outclean stockings for the children every Saturday night, and cleanshirts and ginghams, and lead them all into a pew Sunday morning, and teach them the Golden Rule, and to honor their father andtheir mother, and all the rest of it!"

"And what do you think you would gain by that?" Warren asked. 

"Oh, I would gain--security, " Rachael said vaguely, but with asuspicion of tears in her eyes. "I would have something to--tostand upon, to be guided by. There is a purity, an austerity, about that old church-going, loving-God-and-your-neighbor ideal. Truth and simplicity and integrity and uprightness--my old great-grandmother used to use those words, but one doesn't ever hearthem any more! Everything's half black and half white nowadays;we're all as good or as bad as we happen to be born. There's nomore discipline, no more self-denial, no more development ofcharacter! I want to--to hold on to something, now that forces Ican't control are coming into my life. "

"What do you mean by forces you can't control?" he asked with asort of annoyed interest. 

"Love, Warren, " she answered quickly. "Love for you and the boys, and fear for you and the boys. Love always brings fear. Andillness--I never thought of it before I was ill. And jealousy--"

"What have you got to be jealous of?" he asked, somewhat gruffly, as she paused. 

"Your work, " Rachael said simply; "everything that keeps you awayfrom me!"

"And you think going to Saint Luke's every Sunday morning ateleven o'clock, and listening to Billy Graves, will fix it allup?" he smiled not unkindly. But as she did not answer his smile, and as the tears he disliked came into her eyes, his tone changed. "Now I'll tell you what's the matter with you, my dear, " he saidwith a brisk kindliness that cut her far more just then thanseverity would have done, "you're all wound up in self-analysisand psychologic self-consciousness, and you're spinning round andround in your own entity like a kitten chasing her tail. It's aperfectly recognizable phase of a sort of minor hysteria thatoften gets hold of women, and curiously enough, it usually comesabout five or six years after marriage. We doctors meet it overand over again. 'But, Doctor, I'm so nervous and excited all thetime, and I don't sleep! I worry so--and much as I love myhusband, I just can't help worrying!'"

Looking up and toward his wife as she sat opposite him in thelamp-light, Warren Gregory found no smile on the beautiful face. Rachael's hurt was deeper than her pride; she looked stricken. 

"Don't put yourself in their class, my dear!" her husband saidleniently. "You need some country air. You'll get down to Clark'sHills in a week or two and blow some of these notions away. Meanwhile, why don't you run down to the club every morning, andplay a good smashing game of squash, and take a plunge. Putyourself through a little training!" He reopened his book. 

Rachael did not answer. Presently glancing at her he saw that shewas reading, too. 

CHAPTER V

That his overtired nerves and her exhausted soul and body wouldhave recovered balance in time, did not occur to Rachael. Shesuffered with all the intensity of a strongly passionate nature. Warren had changed to her; that was the terrible fact. She wentabout stunned and sick, neglecting her meals, forgetting hertonic, refusing the distractions that would have been the bestthing possible for her. Little things troubled her; she said toherself bitterly that everything, anything, caused irritationbetween herself and Warren now. Sometimes the atmospherebrightened for a few days, then the old hopeless tugging at crosspurposes began again. 

"You're sick, Rachael, and you don't know it!" said Magsie Claybreezily. June was coming in, and Magsie was leaving town for theVillalonga camp. She told Rachael that she was "crazy" about KentParmalee, and Rachael's feeling of amazement that Magsie Claycould aspire to a Parmalee was softened by an odd sensation ofrelief at hearing Magsie's plans--a relief she did not analyze. 

"I believe I am sick!" Rachael agreed. "I shall be glad to getdown to the shore next week. " She told Warren of Magsie'sadmission that night. 

"Kent! She wouldn't look at him!" Warren said comfortably. 

"It would be a brilliant match for her, " Rachael counteredquietly. 

She saw that she had antagonized him, but he did not speak again. One of their unhappy silences fell. 

Home Dunes, as always, restored health and color magically. Rachael felt more like herself after the first night's sleep onthe breezy porch, the first invigorating dip in the ocean. Shebegan to enjoy her meals again, she began to look carefully to herappearance. Presently she was laughing, singing, bubbling withlife and energy. Alice, watching her, rejoiced and marvelled ather recovery. Rachael's beauty, her old definite self-reliance, came back in a flood. She fairly radiated charm, glowing as sheheld George and Alice under the spell of her voice, the spell ofher happy planning. Her letters to Warren were in the old, tender, vivacious strain. She was interested in everything, delighted witheverything in Clark's Hills. She begged him for news; Vivian had ababy? And Kent Parmalee was engaged to Eliza Bowditch--what didMagsie's say? And did he miss her? The minute she got home she wasgoing to talk to him about having a big porch built on, outsidethe nursery, and at the back of the house; what about it? Then thechildren could sleep out all the year through. George and Alicepositively stated that they were going around the world in twoyears, and if they did, why couldn't the Gregorys go, too?

"You're wonderful!" said Alice one day. "You're not the same womanyou were last winter!"

"I was ill last winter, woman! And never so ill as when they allthought I was entirely cured! Besides--" Rachael looked down ather tanned arm and slender brown fingers marking grooves in thesand. "Besides, it's partly--bluff, Alice, " she confessed. "I'mfighting myself these days. I don't want to think that we--Gregand I--can't go back, can't be to each other--what we were!"

What an April creature she was, thought Alice, seeing that tearswere close to the averted eyes, and hearing the tremble inRachael's voice. 

"Goose!" she said tenderly. "You were a nervous wreck last year, and Warren was working far too hard! Make haste slowly, Rachael. "

"But it's three weeks since he was here, " Rachael said in a lowvoice. "I don't understand it, that's all!"

"Nor I--nor he!" Alice said, smiling. 

"Next week!" Rachael predicted bravely. And a second later she hadsprung up from the sand and was swimming through the surf as ifshe swam from her own intolerable thoughts. 

The next week-end would bring him she always told herself, andusually after two or three empty Sundays there would come a happyone, with the new car which was built like a projectile, purringin the road, George and Alice shouting greetings as they came inthe gate, Louise excitedly attempting to outdo herself on thedinner, and the sunburned noisy babies shrieking themselves hoarseas they romped with their father. 

To be held tight in his arms, to get his first big kiss, to comeinto the house still clinging to him, was bliss to Rachael now. But as the summer wore away she noticed that in a few hours thejoy of homecoming would fade for him, he would become fitfullytalkative, moodily silent, he would wonder why the Valentines werealways late, and ask his wife patiently if she would please nothum, his head ached--

"Dearest! Why didn't you say so!"

"I don't know. It's been aching all day!"

"And you let those great boys climb all over you!"

"Oh, that's all right. "

"Would you like a nap, Warren, or would you like to go over to thebeach, just you and me, and have a swim?"

"No, thank you. I may run the car into Katchogue"--Katchogue, seven miles away, was the site of the nearest garage--"and havethat fellow look at my magneto. She didn't act awfully well comingdown!"

"Would you like me to go with you, Warren?"

"Love it, my dear, but I have to take Pierre. He's got twice thesense I have about it!"

And again a sense of heaviness, of helplessness, would fall uponRachael, so that on Sunday afternoon it was almost a relief tohave him go away. 

"Well, " she would say in the nursery again, after the good-byes, kissing the fat little shoulder of Gerald Fairfax Gregory wherethe old baby white ran into the new boyish tan, "we will not beintrospective and imaginative, and cry for the moon. We will takeoff our boys' little old, hot rumply shirts, and put them intotheir nice cool nighties, and be glad that we have everything inthe world--almost! Get me your Peter Rabbit Book, Jimmy, and getup here on my other arm. Everybody hasn't the same way of showinglove, and the main thing is to be grateful that the love is there. Daddy loves his boys, and his home, and his boys' mother, only itdoesn't always occur to him that--"

"Are you talking for me, or for you, Mother?" Jimmy wouldsometimes ask, after puzzled and attentive listening. 

"For me, this time, but now I'll talk for you!" Rachael satisfiedher hungry heart with their kisses, and was never so happy as whenboth fat little bodies were in her arms. She grudged every monththat carried them away from babyhood, and one day Alice Valentinefound her looking at a book of old photographs with an expressionof actual sadness on her face. 

"Look at Jim, Alice, that second summer--before Derry was born!Wasn't he the dearest little fatty, tumbling all over the place!"

"Rachael, don't speak as if the child was dead!" Alice laughed. 

"Well, one loses them almost as completely, " Rachael said, smiling. "Jim is such a great big, brown, mischievous creaturenow, and to think that my Derry is nearly two!"

"Think of me, with Mary fifteen!" Mrs. Valentine countered, "andjust as baby-hungry as ever! But I shall have to do nothing butchaperon now, for a few years, and wait for the grandchildren. "

"I shouldn't mind getting old, Alice, " Rachael said, "if I werelike you; you're so temperate and unselfish and sweet that no onecould help loving you! Besides, you don't sit around worryingabout what people think, you just go on cutting out cookies, andputting buttons on gingham dresses, and let other people do theworrying!"

And suddenly, to the other woman's concern, she burst into bittercrying, and covered her face with her hands. 

"I'm so frightened, Alice!" sobbed Rachael. "I don't know what'sthe matter with me, but I FEEL--I feel that something is allwrong! I don't seem to have any HOLD on Warren any more--you can'texplain such things--but I'm--"

She got to her feet, a splendid figure of tragedy, and walkedblindly to the end of the long porch, where she stood staring downat the heaving, sun-flooded expanse of the blue sea, and at theroofs of little Quaker Bridge beyond the bar. Lazy waves werecreaming, in great interlocked circles, on the white beach, theair was as clear as crystal on the cloudless September morning. Not a breath of wind stirred the tufted grass on the dunes; downby the weather-blown bath-houses a dozen children, her own amongthem, were shouting and splashing in the spreading shallows. 

Alice Valentine, her plain, sweet face a picture of sympathy, satdumb and unmoving. In her own heart she felt that Rachael's was aterrible situation. What WAS the matter with Warren Gregory, anyway, wondered Alice; he had a beautiful wife, and beautifulchildren, and if George, with all his summer substituting andhospital work, could come to his family, as he did come everyFriday night, it was upon no claim of hard work that Warren couldremain away. As a matter of fact, Alice knew it was not for workthat he stayed, for George, the least critical of friends, hadonce or twice told her of yachting parties in which Warren hadparticipated--men's parties, of which Rachael perhaps might nothave disapproved, but of which Rachael certainly did not know. George had told her vaguely that Greg liked to play golf onSaturday afternoons, and sleep late on Sunday, and seemed to feelit more of a rest than coming down to the shore. 

"I am a fool to break down this way, " said Rachael, interruptingher guest's musings to come back to her chair, and showing acomposed face despite her red eyes, "but my--my heart is heavy to-day!" Something in the simple dignity of the words brought thetears to Alice's eyes. She held out her hand and Rachael took itand clung to it, as she went on: "I had a birthday yesterday--andWarren forgot it!"

"They all do that!" Alice said cheerfully. "George never remembersmine!"

"But Warren always has before, " Rachael said, smiling sadly, "and--and it came to me last night--I didn't sleep very well--that I amthirty-four, and--and I have given him all I have!"

Again tears threatened her self-control, but she fought themresolutely, and in a moment was herself again. 

"You love too hard, my dear woman, " Alice Valentine remonstratedaffectionately; "nothing is worse than extremes in anything. Sayto yourself, like a sensible girl, that you have a good husband, and let it go at that! Be as cool and cheerful with Warren as ifhe were--George, for instance, and try to interest yourself insomething entirely outside your own home. I wonder if perhaps thisplace isn't a little lonely for you? Why don't you try Bar Harboror one of the mountain places next year, and go about amongpeople, and entertain a little more?"

"But, Alice, people BORE me so--I've had so much of it, and it'salways the same thing!"

"I know; I hate it, too. But there are funny phases in marriage, Rachael, and one has to take them as they come. Warren might likeit. "

Rachael pondered. Elinor Pomeroy and the Villalongas, theWhittakers and Stokes and Parmalees again! Noise and hurry, anddancing and smoking and drinking again! She sighed. 

"I believe I'll suggest it to Warren, Alice. Then if he's keen forit, we'll do it next year. "

"I would. " Mrs. Valentine rose, and looked toward the beach withan idea of locating Martha and Katrina before sending for them. "Isn't it almost lunch time?" she asked, adding in a matter-of-fact tone: "Don't worry any more, Rachael; it's largely a badhabit. Just look the whole thing in the face, and map it out likea campaign. 'The way to begin living the ideal life is to begin, 'my father used to say!"

This talk, and others like it, had the effect of bracing Rachaelto fresh endurance and of spurring her to fresh courage for thefew days that its effect lasted. But sooner or later her braverywould die away, and an increasing discouragement possess her. Lying in her bare, airy bedroom at night, with sombre eyes staringat the arch of stars above the moving sea, an almost unbearableloneliness would fall upon soul and body; she needed Warren, shesaid to herself, often with bitter tears. Warren, splashing in hisbath, scattering wet towels and discarded garments so royallyabout the place; Warren, in a discursive mood, regarding someoperation as he stropped his razor; Warren's old, half-unthinking"you look sweet, dear, " when, fresh and dainty, his wife was readyto go downstairs--for these and a thousand other memories of himshe yearned with an aching desire that racked her like a bodilypain. 

"Oh, it isn't right for him to torture me so!" she would whisperto herself. "It isn't right!"

October found them all back in the city, an apparently united anddevoted family again. Rachael entered with great zest into thedelayed matter of redecorating and refurnishing the old home onWashington Square, finding the dignified house--Warren'sbirthplace--more and more to her liking as modern enamel fixtureswent into the bathrooms, simple modern hangings let sunshine andair in at the long-darkened windows, and rich tapestry papers andOriental rugs subdued the effect of severe cream woodwork andcolonial mantels. 

She found Warren singularly unenthusiastic about it, almostungracious when he answered her questions or decided for her anydetail. But Rachael was firmly resolved to ignore his moods, andwent blithely about her business, displaying an indifference--oran assumed indifference--that was evidently somewhat puzzling toWarren and to all her household. She equipped the boys in dark-blue coats and squirrel-skin caps for the winter, marvelling alittle sadly that their father did not seem to see the charms soevident to all the world. A rosier, gayer, more sturdy pair ofdevoted little brothers never stamped through snowy parks, or camechattering in for chops and baked potatoes. Every woman in theneighborhood, every policeman, knew Jim and Derry Gregory; theirmorning walks were so many separate little adventures inpopularity. But Warren, beyond paternal greetings at breakfast, and an occasional perfunctory query as to their health, made noattempt to enter into their lives. They were still too small tointerest their father except as good and satisfactory babies. 

One bitter December day the thunderbolt fell. Rachael felt thatshe had always known it, that she had been sitting in this hideoushotel dining-room for years watching Warren--and Margaret Clay. 

There was a bitter taste of salt water in her mouth, there was ahideous drumming at her heart. She felt sick and cold from herbewildered brain down to her very feet. When one felt like this--one fainted. 

But Rachael did not faint, although it was by sheer power of willthat she held her reeling senses. No scene--no, there mustn't be ascene--for Jimmy's sake, for Derry's sake, no scene. She was here, in the Waldorf Grill, of course. She had been--what had she beendoing? She had been--she came downtown after breakfast--of course, shopping. Shopping for the children's Christmas. They were to havecoasters--they were old enough for coasters--she must go on thisquiet way, thinking of the children--five was old enough forcoasters--and Jim always looked out for Derry. 

She couldn't go out. They hadn't seen her; they wouldn't see her, here in this corner. But she dared not stand up and pass themagain. Warren--and Magsie. Warren--and Magsie. Oh, God--God--God--what should she do--she was going to faint again. 

Here was her shopping list, a little wet and crumpled because shehad put her glove on the snowy handle of the motor-car door. Maryhad said that it would be a white Christmas--how could Mary tell?--this was only the eighteenth, only the eighteenth--ridiculous tobe panting this way, like a runner. Nothing was going to hurt her--

"Anything--anything!" she said to the waiter, with dry, bloodlesslips, and a ghastly attempt at a smile. "Yes, that will do. Thankyou, yes, I suppose so. Yes, if you will. Thank you. That will donicely. "

And now she must be quiet. That was the main thing now. They mustnot see her. She had been shopping, and now she was having herlunch in the Grill. If she could only breathe a little lessviolently--but she seemed to have no control over her heavingbreast, she could not even close her mouth. Nobody suspectedanything, and if she could but control herself, nobody would, shetold herself desperately. 

She never knew that the silent, gray-haired waiter recognized her, and recognized both the man and woman who sat only thirty feetaway. She had not ordered coffee, but he brought her a smokingpot. It was not the first time he had encountered the situation. Rachael drank the vivifying fluid, and her nerves responded atonce. 

She sat up, set her lips firmly, forced herself to dispose ofgloves and napkin in the usual way. Her breath was coming moreevenly--so much was gained. As for this deadly cold and quiveringsensation of nausea, that was no more than fatigue and thefrightfully cold wind. 

So it was Magsie. Rachael had not been seven years a wife tomisread Warren's eyes as he looked at the girl. No woman couldmisread their attitude together, an attitude of wonderful, sweetfamiliarity with each other's likes and dislikes under all itsthrilling newness. Rachael had seen him turn that very glance, that smiling-eyed yet serious look--

Oh, God! it could not be that he had come to care for Magsie! Herhard-won calm was shattered in a second, she was panting andquivering again. Her husband, her own big, tender, clever Warren--but he was hers, and the boys--he was HERS! Her husband--and thisother woman was looking at him with all her soul in her eyes, thisother woman cared--all the world might see how she cared for him--and was loved in return!

What had she been hearing, lately, of Magsie? Rachael begandizzily to recall what she could. Magsie had been "on the road, "she had had a small part in an unsuccessful play early in thewinter. Rachael had been for some reason unable to see it, but shehad sent Magsie flowers, and--she remembered now--Warren hadrepresented himself as having looked in on the play with somefriends, one evening, and as having found it pretty poor stuff. Solittle had Magsie and Magsie's affairs seemed to matter, then, that Rachael could not even remember the name of the play, nor ofhearing it discussed. The world in general had not seemed inclinedto make much of the professional advent of Miss Margaret Clay, andpresently the play closed, and Warren, in answer to a carelessquestion from Rachael, had said that they would probably take iton the road until spring. 

And then, some weeks ago, she had asked about Magsie again, andWarren had said: "I believe she's in town. Somebody told me theother day that she was to have a part in one of Bowman's thingsthis winter. "

"It's amazing to me that Magsie doesn't get ahead faster, " Rachaelhad mused. No more was said. 

And how pretty she was, how young she was, Rachael thought now, with a stabbing pain at her heart. How earnestly they weretalking--no ordinary conversation. Presently tears were in thelittle actress's eyes; she had no handkerchief, but Warren had. Hegave it to her, and she surreptitiously wiped her eyes, and smiledat him, like a pretty child, in her furs. 

Rachael felt actually sick with shock. She felt as if some vitalcord in her anatomy had been snapped, and as if she could nevercontrol these heavy languid limbs of hers again. Her head ached. Alassitude seemed to possess her. She felt cold, and old, andhelpless in the face of so much youth and beauty. 

Magsie--and Warren. She must accustom herself to the thought. Theycared for each other. They cared--Rachael's heart seemed to shutwith an icy spasm, she felt herself choking and shut her eyes. 

Well, what could they do--at worst? Could Magsie go out now, andget into the Gregory motor car, and say, "Home, Martin!" to theman? Could Magsie run up the steps of the Washington Square house, gather the cream of the day's news from the butler in a breath, and, flinging off furs and wraps, catch the two glorious boys toher heart?

No! However the situation developed, Rachael was still the wife. Rachael held the advantage, and whatever poor Magsie's influencewas, it could be but temporary, it must be unrecognized andunapproved by the world. 

Slowly self-control came back, the dizziness subsided, the roomsank and settled into its usual aspect. It was hideous, but it wasa fact, she must face it--she must face it. There was an honorableway, and a dignified way, and that must be her way. No one mustknow. 

Presently the table near her was empty, and she began to breathemore naturally. She pondered so deeply that for a long time theroom was forgotten, and the moving crowd shifted about her unseen. Then abstractedly she rose, and went slowly out to the waitingcar. She carried a heart of lead. 

"I've kept you waiting, Martin?"

Martin merely touched his hat. It was four o'clock. 

And so Rachael found herself facing an unbelievable situation. Tolove, and to know herself unloved, was a cold, dull misery thatclung like a weight to her heart. Her thoughts stumbled in aclose, hot fog; from sheer weariness she abandoned them again andagain. 

She had never been a reasonable woman, but she forced herself tobe reasonable now. Logic and philosophy had never been her naturaldefences, but she brought logic and philosophy to bear upon thishideous circumstance. She did not waste time and tears upon afutile "Why?" It was too late now to question; the fact spoke foritself. Warren's senses were wrapped in the charms of anotherwoman. His own devoted and still young and beautiful wife was notthe first devoted and young and beautiful woman to have her claimdisplaced. 

For days after the episode in the Waldorf lunch-room she movedlike a conspirator, watching, thinking. Warren had never seemedmore considerate of her happiness, more satisfied with life. Hewas full of agreeable chatter at breakfast, interested in herplans, amused at the boys. He did not come home for luncheon, butusually ran up the steps at five o'clock, and was reading ordressing when Rachael wandered into his room to greet him afterthe day. He never kissed her now, or touched her hand even bychance; she was reminded, in his general aspect, of thoseoccasions when the delicious Derry wandered out from the nursery, evading the nap which was his duty, but full of the airyconversation and small endearments that only a child on sufferanceknows. 

Rachael tried in vain to understand the affair; what evil geniuspossessed Warren; what possessed Magsie? She tried to think kindlyof Magsie; poor child, she had had no ugly intention, she wassimply spoiled, simply an egotist undeveloped in brain and soul!

But--Warren! Well, Warren's soft, simple heart had been touched byall that endearing kittenish confidence, by Magsie's belief thathe was the richest and cleverest and most powerful of men. 

So they were meeting for lunch, for tea--where else? What did theytalk about, what did they plan or hope or expect? Through all herhot impatience Rachael believed that she could trust them both, inthe graver sense. Warren was as unlikely to take advantage ofMagsie's youthful innocence as Magsie was to definitely commitherself to a reckless course. 

But what then? Absurd, preposterous as it was, it was not all ajoke. It had already shut the sun from all Rachael's sky. What wasit doing to Warren--to Magsie? With Rachael in a cold anddangerous mood, Warren evasive, unresponsive, troubled, what wasMagsie feeling and thinking?

Proudly, and with a bitter pain at her heart, Rachael went throughher empty days. Her household affairs ran as if by magic; neverwas there a more successful conspiracy for one man's comfort thanthat organized by Rachael and her maids. For the first time sincetheir marriage she and Warren were occupying separate rooms now, but Rachael made it a special charge to go in and out of his roomconstantly when he was there. She would come in with his mail andhis newspaper at nine o'clock, full of cheerful solicitude, orfollow him in for the half-hour just before dinner, chatting withapparent ease of heart while he dressed. 

Only apparent ease of heart, however, for Warren's invariablecourtesy and sweetness filled his wife with sick apprehension. Ah, for the old good hours when he scolded and argued, protested andlaughed over the developments of the day. Sometimes, nowadays, hehardly heard her, despite his bright, interested smile. Once hehad commented upon her gown the instant she came into the room;now he never seemed to see her at all; as a matter of fact, theireyes never met. 

In February he told her suddenly that Margaret Clay was to open inanother fortnight at the Lyric, in a new play by Gideon Barrett, called "The Bad Little Lady. "

"At the Lyric!" Rachael said in a rush of something almost likejoy that they could speak of Magsie at last, "and one ofBarrett's! Well, Magsie is coming on! What part does she take?"

"The lead--the title part--Patricia Something-or-other, Ibelieve. "

"The LEAD! At the Lyric--why, isn't that an astonishing complimentto Magsie!"

Warren looked for his paper-cutter, cut a page, and shrugged hisshoulders without glancing up from his book. 

"Well, yes, I suppose it is. But of course she's gone steadilyahead. "

"But I thought she wasn't so successful last winter, Warren?"

"I don't know, " he said politely, wearily, uninterestedly. 

"How did you hear this, Warren?" his wife asked, with a deceitfulair of innocence. 

"Met her, " he answered briefly. 

"Well, we must see the play, " Rachael said briskly. For somereason her heart was lighter than it had been for weeks. This wassomething definite and in the open at last after all these days ofblundering in the dark. "We could take a box, couldn't we, and askGeorge and Alice?" she added. Warren's expression was that of aboy whose way with his first sweetheart is too suddenly favored byparents and guardians, and Rachael could have laughed at his face. 

"Well, " he said without enthusiasm. A week later he told her thathe had secured the box, but suggested that someone else than theValentines be asked, Elinor and Peter, for instance. 

"You and George aren't quite as good friends as you were, areyou?" Rachael said, gravely. 

"Quite, " Warren said with his bright, deceptive smile and hisusual averted glance. "Ask anyone you please--it was merely asuggestion!"

Rachael asked Peter and Elinor, and gave them a delicious dinnerbefore the play. She looked her loveliest, a little fuller infigure than she had been seven years before, and with gray hereand there in her rich hair, but still a beautiful and winningpresence, and still with something of youth in her spontaneous, quick speech and ready laughter. Warren was, as always, theattentive host, but Rachael noticed that he was abstracted andnervous to-night, and wondered, with a chill at her heart, ifMagsie's new venture meant so much to him as his manner implied. 

It was an early dinner, and they reached the theatre before thecurtain rose. 

"It looks like a good house, " said Rachael, settling herselfcomfortably. 

"You can't tell anything by this, " Warren said, quickly; "it's afirst night and papered. "

"Aren't you smart with your professional terms?" Elinor Pomeroylaughed, dropping the lorgnette through which she had been idlystudying the house. "What _I_'D like to know, " she addedinterestedly, "what _I_'D like to know is, who's doing this forMagsie Clay? Vera Villalonga says she knows, but I don't believeit. Magsie's a little nobody, she has no special talent, and hereshe is leading in a Barrett play--"

Peter Pomeroy's foot here pressed lightly against Rachael's; ahint, Rachael instantly suspected, that was intended for his wife. 

"Now I think Magsie's as straight as a string, " the unconsciousMrs. Pomeroy went on, "but she must have a rich beau up hersleeve, and the question is, who is he? I don't--"

But here, it was evident, Peter's second appeal to his wife'sdiscretion was felt, and it suddenly arrested her flow ofeloquence. 

"--I don't doubt, " floundered Elinor, "that--that is--and ofcourse Magsie IS a talented creature, so that naturally--naturally--some girl makes a hit every year, and why shouldn't itbe Magsie? Which is right, Peter, 'why shouldn't it be she' or'why shouldn't it be her?' I never know, " she finished somewhatincoherently. 

"I should think any investment in Magsie would be perfectly safe, "said Rachael's delightful voice. And boldly she added: "Do youknow who is backing this, Warren?"

"To a certain extent--I am, " Warren said, after an imperceptiblepause. To Peter he added, in a lower voice, the voice in which mendiscuss business matters: "It was a question of the whole dealfalling through--I think she'll make good--this fellow Barrett--"

Rachael began to chat with Elinor, but there was bitterness in hersoul. She had leaped into the breach, she had saved the situation, at least before Elinor and Peter. But it was not fair--not fairfor Warren to have been deep in this affair with Magsie, withnever a word to his wife! She--Rachael--would have been allinterest, all sympathy. There was no reason between civilizedhuman beings why this eternal question of sex should debar men andwomen from common ambitions and common interests! Let Warrenadmire Magsie if he wanted to do so, let him buy her her play, andstand between her and financial responsibility, jet him admireher--yes, even love her, in his generous, big-brotherly way! Butwhy shut out of this new interest the kindly cooperation of hisdevoted wife, who had never failed him, who had borne him sons, who had given him the whole of her passionate heart in the fullglory of youth, and in health, and in sickness, when it came, hadturned to him for all the happiness of her life!

The play began, and presently the house was applauding theentrance of Miss Margaret Clay. She came down a wide, light-flooded stairway, and in her childish white gown and flower-wreathed shepherdess hat looked about sixteen. "How young she is!"Rachael thought with a pang. Her voice was young, too, the factbeing that Magsie was frightened, and that Nature was helping herplay her first big ingenue part. 

Rachael glanced in the darkness at Warren. He had not joined inthe applause, nor did his handsome face express any pleasure. Hewas leaning forward, his hands locked and hanging between hisknees, his eyes riveted on the little white figure that was movingand talking down there in the bright bath of light beyond thefootlights. 

Despite all reason, despite her desperate effort at self-control, Rachael felt an agony of pure jealousy seize her. In an absolutepassion of envy she looked down at Magsie Clay. The young, flower-crowned head, the slender, slippered feet, the youthful andappealing voice--what weapons had she against these? And beyondthese was the additional lure--as old as the theatre itself--ofthe fascinating profession: the work that is like play, the rougeand curls, the loves and rages so openly assumed yet so strangelyand stirringly effective! Rachael had gowns a thousand timeshandsomer than these youthful muslins and embroideries; Rachael'sown home was a setting far more beautiful than any that could besimulated within the limits of a stage; if Magsie was a successfulingenue, Rachael might have been called a natural queen of tragedyand of comedy! And yet--

And yet, it was because she, too, saw the charm and came under thespell, that Rachael suffered to-night. If she could have laughedit to scorn, could have admired the surface prettiness, andcongratulated Magsie upon the almost perfect illusion, then shewould have had the most effective of all medicines with which tocure Warren's midsummer madness. 

But it seemed to Rachael, stunned with the terrible force ofjealousy, that Magsie was the great star of the stage, that therenever had been such a play and such a leading lady. It seemed toher that not only to-night's triumph, but a thousand othertriumphs were before her, not only the admiration of these twelveor fifteen hundred persons, but that of thousands more! Magsiewould be a rage! Magsie's young favors would be sought far andwide. Magsie's summer home, Magsie's winter apartments, Magsie'sclothes and fads, these would belong to the adoring public of themost warmhearted and impressionable city in the world! Rachael sawit all coming with perhaps more certainty than did even the littleactress behind the footlights. 

"Cute play, but I don't think much of Magsie!" Elinor Pomeroy saidfrankly. Elinor Vanderwall would not have been so impolitic. ButRachael felt that she would have liked to kiss her guest. 

"I think Magsie is rather good, " she said deliberately. 

"Nothing like praising the girl with faint damns!" Peter Pomeroychuckled. 

"Well, what do you think, Peter?" his hostess asked. 

"I--oh, Lord! I don't see a play once a year, " he said, with themanner, if not the actual presence, of a yawn. "I think it'srather good. I'll tell you what, Greg, I don't see you losing anymoney on it, " he added, with interest; "it'll run; the matineegirls will come!"

"Magsie'd kill you for that, " Elinor said. 

"I don't suppose we could see Magsie, Warren, after this is over?"Rachael asked to make him speak. 

"What did you say, dear?" He brought his gaze from a general studyof the house to a point only a few inches out of range of her own. "No, I hardly think so, " he answered when she had repeated herquestion. "She's probably excited and tired. "

"You wouldn't mind my sending a line down by the boy?" Rachaelpersisted. 

"Well, I don't think I'd do that--" He hesitated. 

"Oh, I'm strong for it!" Elinor said vivaciously. "It'll cheerMagsie up. She's probably scared blue, and even I can see thatthis isn't making much of a hit!"

The note was accordingly scribbled and dispatched; Rachael's heartwas singing because Warren had not denied Elinor's comment uponthe success of the play. The leading man, a popular and prominentactor, was disturbingly good, and there was the part of an Irishmaid, a comedy part, so well filled by some hitherto unknown youngactress that it might really influence the run of the play; butstill, there was a consoling indication already in the air thatMargaret Clay's talent was somewhat too slight to sustain aleading woman. 

At eleven it was over, and if Rachael had had to endure thecomment that the second act was "the best yet, " there was thepanacea, immediately to follow, that the end of the play was"pretty flat. "

Presently they all filed back to the dark, windy stage, and joinedMagsie in her dressing-room. She was glowing, excited, eager forpraise. Never was a young and lovely woman more confident of hercharm than Magsie to-night. A flushed self-satisfaction waspresent on her face during every second of the ten minutes shegave them; her laughter was self-conscious, her smile full ofartless gratification; she could not speak to any member of thelittle group unless the attention of everyone present was rivetedupon her. 

A callow youth, evidently her adorer, was awaiting her. She spokeslightingly of Bryan Masters, the leading man. 

"He's charming, Rachael, " said Magsie, smiling her bored youngsmile, with deliciously red lips, as she was buttoned into a longfur coat, "but--he wants to impose on the fact that--well, that Ihave arrived, if you know what I mean? As everyone knows, his dayis pretty well over. Now you think I'm conceited, don't you, Greg. Oh, I like him, and he does do it rather well, don't you think?But Richie"--Richie was the escorting young man--"Richie and Itease him by breaking into French now and then, don't we?" laughedMagsie. 

Sauntering out from the stage entrance with her friends, Miss Claywas the cynosure of all eyes, and knew it; part of the audiencestill waited for the tedious line of limousines to disperse. Shecould not move her bright glance to Warren's without encounteringthe admiring looks of men and women all about her; she could notbut hear their whispers: "There, there she is--that's Miss Claynow!" Richie, introduced as Mr. Gardiner, muttered that his carwas somewhere; it proved to be a handsome car with a chauffeur. Magsie raised her bright face pleadingly to Warren's as she tookhis hands for goodbye. 

"Say you were proud of me, Warren?"

He laughed, his indulgent glance flashing to Elinor and toRachael, as one who invited their admiration of an attractivechild, before he looked down at her again. 

"Proud of you! Why, I'm as happy as you are about it!"

"You know, " Magsie said to Elinor naively, still holding Warren'shands, "he's helped me--tremendously. He's been just--an absoluteangel to me!" And real and becoming tears came suddenly to hereyes; she dropped Warren's hands to find a filmy littlehandkerchief. A second later her smile flashed out again. "Youdon't mind his being kind to me, do you, Rachael?" she askedchildishly. 

Rachael's mouth was dry, she felt that her smile was hideous. 

"Why should I, Magsie?" she asked a little huskily, "He's kind toeveryone!"

A moment later the Gregorys and their guests were in the carwhirling toward the Pomeroy home and supper. It was more than anhour later that Rachael and her husband were alone, and then sheonly said mildly:

"I wish you had let me know you were helping Magsie, so--soconspicuously, Warren. One hates to be taken unawares that way. "

"She asked me to keep the thing confidential, " he answered withhis baffling simplicity. "She had this good chance, but shecouldn't quite swing it. I had no idea that you would care, oneway or the other. "

"Well, she ought to be launched now, " Rachael said. She hated totalk of Magsie, especially in his company, where she could donothing but praise, but she could somehow find it difficult tospeak of anything else tonight. 

"Cunning little thing, there she was, holding on to my hands, asinnocently as a child!" Warren said with a musing smile. "She's afunny girl--all fire and ice, as she says herself!"

Rachael smothered a scornful interjection. Let Magsie employ thearts of a schoolgirl if she would, but at least let the greatDoctor Gregory perceive their absurdity!

"Young Mr. Richie Gardiner seemed louche" she observed after asilence which Warren seemed willing indefinitely to prolong. 

"H'm!" Warren gave a short, contented laugh. 

"He's crazy about her, but of course to her he's only a kid, " hevolunteered. "She's funny about that, too. She's emotional, ofcourse, full of genius, and full of temperament. She says sheneeds a safety-valve, and Gardner is her safety-valve. She saysshe can sputter and rage and laugh, and he just listens and quietsher down. To-night she called him her 'bread-and-butter'--did youhear her?"

"I wonder what she considers you--her champagne?" Rachael askedwith a poor assumption of amusement. 

But Warren was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice it. 

"It's curious how I do inspire and encourage her, " he admitted. "She needs that sort of thing. She's always up in the clouds ordown in the dumps. "

"Do you see her often, Warren?" Rachael asked with deadly calm. 

"I've seen her pretty regularly since this thing began, " heanswered absently, still too much wrapped in the memories of theevening to suspect his wife's emotion. Rachael did not speakagain. 

CHAPTER VI

Only Miss Margaret Clay perused the papers on the followingmorning with an avidity to equal that of Mrs. Warren Gregory. Magsie read hungrily for praise, Rachael was as eager to discoverblame. The actress, lying in her soft bed, wrapped in embroideredsilk, and sleepily conscious that she was wakening to fame andfortune, gave, it is probable, only an occasional fleeting thoughtto her benefactor's wife, but Rachael, crisp and trim over herbreakfast, thought of nothing but Magsie while she read. 

Praise--and praise--and praise. But there was blame, too; therewas even sharply contemptuous criticism. On the whole, Rachael hadalmost as much satisfaction from her morning's reading as Magsiedid. The three most influential papers did not comment upon MissClay's acting at all. In two more, little Miss Elsie Eaton andBryan Masters shared the honors. The Sun remarked frankly thatMiss Clay's amateurish acting, her baby lisp, her utterunacquaintance with whatever made for dramatic art, wouldundoubtedly insure the play a long run. Rachael knew that Warrenwould see all these papers, but she cut out all the pleasanterreviews and put them on his dresser. 

"Did you see these?" she asked him at six o'clock. 

"I glanced at some of them. You've not got The Sun here?"

"No--that was a mean one, " Rachael said sweetly. "I thought itmight distress you, as it probably did Magsie. "

"I saw it, " he said, evidently with no thought of her feeling inthe matter. "Lord, no one minds what The Sun thinks!"

"She's really scored a success, " said Rachael reluctantly. Warrendid not answer. 

For the next three evenings he did not come home to dinner, noruntil late at night. Rachael bore it with dignity, but her heartwas sick within her. She must simply play the waiting game, asmany a better woman had before her, but she would punish WarrenGregory for this some day!

She dressed herself charmingly every evening, and dined alone, with a book. Sometimes the old butler saw her look off from thepage, and saw her breast rise on a quick, rebellious breath; andold Mary could have told of the hours her mistress spent in thenursery, sitting silent in the darkness by the sleeping boys, butboth these old servants were loyalty's self, and even Rachaelnever suspected their realization of the situation and theirresentment. To Vera, to Elinor, even to Alice Valentine, she saidnever a word. She had discussed Clarence Breckenridge easilyenough seven years before, but she could not criticise WarrenGregory to anyone. 

On the fourth evening, when they were to dine with friends, Warrenreached home in time to dress, and duly accompanied his wife tothe affair. He complained of a headache after dinner, and theywent home at about half-past ten. Rachael felt his constraint inthe car, and for very shame could not make it hard for him when hesuggested that he should go downtown again, to look in at theclub. 

"But is this right, is it fair?" she asked herself sombrely whileshe was slowly disrobing. "Could I treat him so? Of course I couldnot! Why, I have never even looked at a man since our very weddingday--never wanted to. And I will be reasonable now. I will bereasonable, but he tries me hard--he makes it hard!"

She put her face in her hands and began to cry. Warren was deludedand under a temporary spell, but still her dear and good andhandsome husband, her dearest companion and confidant. And shemissed him. 

Oh, to have him back again, in the old way, so infinitely dear andinterested, so quick with laughter, so vigorous with comment, sounsparing where he blamed! To have him come and kiss the whiteparting of her hair once more as she sat waiting for him at thebreakfast table, turn to her in the car with his quick "Happy?"once more, hold her tight once more against his warm heart!

How unlike him it was, how contemptible it was, this playing withthe glorious thing that had been their love! For the first time inher life Rachael could have played the virago, could have ragedand stamped, could have made him absolutely afraid to misuse herso. He did not deserve such consideration, he should not betreated so gently. 

While she sat alone, in the long evenings, she tried to follow himin her thoughts. He was somewhere in the big, warm, dark theatre, watching the little pool of brightness in which Magsie moved, listening to the crisp, raw freshness of Magsie's voice. Nightafter night he must sit there, drinking in her beauty and charm, torturing himself with the thought of her inaccessibility. 

It seemed strange to Rachael that this world-old tragedy shouldcome into her life with all the stinging novelty of a calamity. People and press talked about a murder, about an earthquake, abouta fire. Yet what was death or ruin or flames beside the horror ofknowing love to be outgrown, of living beside this empty mask andshell of a man whose mind and soul were in bondage elsewhere?Rachael came to know love as a power, and herself a victim of thatpower abused. 

Slowly resentment began to find room in her heart. It was all sochildish, so futile, so unnecessary! A prominent surgeon, thehusband of a devoted wife, the father of two splendid sons, thusflinging pride and sanity to the wind, thus being caught in thelightly flung net of an ordinary, pretty little actress, thedaughter of a domestic servant and a soldier in the ranks! Andwhat was to be the outcome? Rachael mused sombrely. Was Warren totire simply of his folly, Magsie to carelessly fill his place inthe ranks of her admirers, Rachael to gracefully forgive andforget?

It was an unpalatable role, yet she saw no other open to her. Whatwas to be gained by coldness, by anger, by controversy? Was a mancapable of Warren's curious infatuation to be merely scolded andpunished like a boy? She was helpless and she knew it. Until heactually transgressed against their love, she could make no move. Even when he did, or if he did, her only recourse was the hatedone of a public scandal: accusations, recriminations. 

She began to understand his nature as she had not understood it inall these years. Bits of his mother's brief comment upon him cameback to her; uncomprehensible when she first heard them, they werecuriously illuminating now. He had been a naturally good boy, awkward, silent, conscientious; turning toward integrity asnormally as many of his companions turned toward vice. Despite hisnatural shyness, his diffidence of manner, he had been stronghimself and had scorned weakness in anyone; upright, he neededlittle guiding. The praise of servants and of his mother's friendshad been quite frankly his; even his severe mother and father hadbeen able to find little fault in the boy. But they had earlylearned that when a minor correction was demanded by their first-born's character, it was almost impossible to effect it. Hisstandard of behavior was high, fortunately, for it was alsounalterable. There was no hope of their grafting upon hisconscience any new roots. James knew right from wrong withinfallible instinct; he was not often wrong, but when he was, nooutside criticism affected him. As a baby, he would defend hisrare misdeeds, as a boy, he was never thrashed, because there wasalways some good reason for what he did. He had been misinformed, he certainly understood the other fellows to say this; hecertainly never heard the teacher forbid that; handsome, reasonable, self-respecting, he won approval on all sides, andbecause of this mysterious predisposition toward what was rightand just, came safely to the years when he was his own master andcould live unchallenged by the high moral standard he set himself. 

Some of this Rachael began to perceive. It was a key to hisconduct now. He respected Magsie, he admired her; there was noreason why he should not indulge his admiration. No unspokencriticism from his wife could affect him, because he had seen thewhole situation clearly and had decided what was seemly and safein the matter. Criticism only brought a resentful, dull red colorto Warren Gregory's face, and confirmed him more stubbornly in thecourse he was pursuing. He could even enjoy a certain martyr-likesatisfaction under undeserved censure, all censure being equallyincomprehensible and undeserved. Rachael had once seen in thisquality a certain godlike supremacy, a bigness, and splendidnessof vision that rose above the ordinary standards of ordinary men;now it filled her with uneasiness. 

"Well, " she thought, with a certain desperate philosophy, "in acertain number of months or years this will all be over, and Imust simply endure it until that time comes. Life is full oftrouble, anyway!"

Life was full of trouble; she saw it on all sides. But whattrivial matters they were, after all, that troubled Elinor andVera and Judy Moran! Vera was eternally rushing into fresh, furious hospitalities, welcoming hordes of men and women shescarcely knew into her house; chattering, laughing, drinking;flattering the debutantes, screaming at the telephone, standingpatient hours under the dressmaker's hands; never rested, neversatisfied, never stopping to think. Judy Moran's trouble was thatshe was too fat; nothing else really penetrated the shell of herindolent good nature. Kenneth might be politely dropped from thefamily firm, her husband might die and be laid away, her brother-in-law commence an ugly suit for the reclamation of certain jewelsand silver tableware, but all these things meant far less to Mrs. Moran than the unflattering truths her bedroom scales told herevery morning. She had reached the age of fifty without everacquiring sufficient self-control to rid herself of the surplusforty pounds, yet she never buttered a muffin at breakfast time, or crushed a French pastry with her fork at noon, without aninward protest. She spent large sums of money for corsets andgowns that would disguise her immense weight rather than denyherself one cup of creamed-and-sugared tea or one box ofchocolates. And she suffered whenever a casual photograph, or anunexpected glimpse of herself in a mirror, brought to her noticeafresh the dreadful two hundred and twenty pounds. 

And Elinor had her absurd and unnecessary troubles, rich man'swife as she was now, and firmly established in the social groupupon whose outskirts she had lingered so long. The single state ofher four sisters was a constant annoyance to her, especially asPeter was not fond of the girls, and liked to allude to them as"spinsters" and "old maids, " and to ask more entertaining andyounger women to the house. Elinor had never wanted a child, butin the third or fourth year of her marriage she had begun toperceive that it might be wise to give her worldly old husband anheir, much better that, at any cost, than to encourage hisfondness for Barbara Oliphant's boy, his namesake nephew, who wasan officious, self-satisfied little lad of twelve. But Naturerefused to cooperate in Elinor's maternal plans and Peter Juniordid not make his appearance at the big house on the Avenue. Elinorgrew yearly noisier, more reckless, more shallow; she rushed aboutexcitedly from place to place, sometimes with Peter, sometimeswith one of her sisters; not happy in either case, but much givento quarrelsome questioning of life. It was not that she could notget what she wanted so much as that she did not know her own mindand heart. Whatever was momentarily tiresome or distasteful mustbe pushed out of her path, and as almost every friend and everyhuman experience came sooner or later into this category, Elinorfound herself stranded in the very centre of life. 

Alice had her troubles, too, but when her thoughts came to Alice, Rachael found a certain envy in her heart. Ah, those were thetroubles she could have welcomed; she could have cried with sheerjoy at the thought that her life might some day slip into the samegroove as Alice's life. Rachael loved the atmosphere of the big, shabby house now; it was the only place to which she really caredto go. There was in Alice Valentine's character something simple, direct, and high-principled that communicated itself to everybodyand everything in her household. A small girl in her nursery mightshow symptoms of diphtheria, a broken tile on the roof mightdeluge the bedroom ceilings, an old cook leave suddenly, or aheavy rain fall upon a Sunday predestined for picknicking, butAlice Valentine, plain, slow of speech, and slow of thought, wenther serene way, nursing, consoling, repairing, readjusting. 

She had her cares about George, but they were not like Rachael'scares for Warren. Alice knew him to be none too strong, easilytired, often discouraged. His professional successes were many, but there were times when the collapse of a tiny child in a freehospital could blot from George's simple, big, tender heart thememory of a dozen achievements. The wife, deep in the claims ofher four growing children, sometimes longed to put her arms abouthim, to run away with him to some quiet land of sunshine andpalms, some lazy curve of white beach where he could rest andsleep, and drift back to his old splendid energy and strength. Shelonged to cook for him the old dishes he had loved in the earlydays of their marriage, to read to him, to let the world forgetthem while they forgot the world. 

Instead, a hundred claims kept them here in the current ofaffairs. Mary was a tall, sweet, gracious girl of sixteen now, like her father, a pretty edition of his red hair and long-featured clever face. Mary must go on with her music, must be putthrough the lessoning and grooming of a gentlewoman, and take herplace in the dancing class that would be the Junior Cotillion in ayear or two. Alice Valentine was not a worldly woman, but she knewit would be sheer cruelty to let her daughter grow up a strangerin her own world, different in speech and dress and manner fromall the other girls and boys. So Mary went to little dances at theRoyces' and the Bowditches', and walked home from her ridinglesson with little Billy Parmalee or Frank Whittaker, or withFlorence Haviland and Bobby Oliphant. And Alice watched her gowns, and her hair, and her pretty young teeth only a little lesscarefully than she listened to her confidences, questioned herabout persons and things, and looked for inaccuracies in herspeech. 

George Junior was a care, too, in these days at the non-committal, unenthusiastic age of fourteen, when all the vices in the world, finger on lip, form a bright escort for waking or sleeping hours, and the tenderest and most tactful of maternal questions slipsfrom the shell of boyish silence and gruffness unanswered. Full ofapprehension and eagerness, Alice watched her only son; she couldnot give him every hour of her busy days; she would have given himevery instant if she could. He was a good boy, but he was human. Dressed for dinner and the theatre, his mother would look into thechildren's sitting-room to find Mary reading, George reading, Martha, very conscious of being there on sufferance, also readingvirtuously and attentively. 

"Good-night, my darlings! You're going to bed promptly at nine, aren't you, Mary--and Gogo, too? You know we were all late lastnight, " Alice would say, coming in. 

"I am!" Mary would give her mother her sunny smile. "Leslie Perryis going to be here to-morrow night, anyway, and we're going toThomas Prince's skating party in the afternoon, aren't we, Mother?"

"Thomas Prince, the big boob!" Gogo might comment withoutbitterness. 

"He's not a big boob, either, is he, Mother?" Mary was swift indefence. "He's not nearly such a boob as Tubby Butler or SamMoulton!"

"Gosh, that's right--knock Tubby!" Gogo would mumble. 

"Oh, my darling boy, and my darling girl!" Alice, full ofaffection and distress, would look from one to the other. Gogo, standing near his mother, usually had a request. 

"They're all over at Sam's to-night. Gosh! they're going to havefun!"

"Father said 'NOT again this week, '" Mary might chant. 

"Mary!" Alice's reproachful look would silence her daughter; shewould put an arm about her son. 

"What is it to-night, dear?"

"Oh, nothing much!" Gogo would fling up his dark head impatiently. 

"Just Tubby and Sam?"

"I guess so, " gruffly. 

"But Daddy feels--" Alice would stop short in perplexity. Whyshouldn't he go? She had known Mrs. Moulton from the days whenthey both were brides, the Moultons' house was near, and it wasdull for Gogo here, under the sitting-room lamp. If he had onlybeen as contented as Mary, who, with a good time to remember fromyesterday, and another to look forward to to-morrow, was perfectlyhappy to-night. But boys were different. Sam was a trustworthylittle fellow, but Alice did not so much like Tubby Butler. AndGeorge did not like to have Gogo away from the house at night. Shewould smile into the boy's gloomy eyes. 

"Couldn't you just read to-night, my son, or perhaps Mary wouldplay rum with you? Wouldn't that be better, and a long night'ssleep, than going over to Sam's EVERY night?"

But she would leave a disappointed and sullen boy behind her; hisdisgusted face would haunt her throughout the entire evening. 

Martha was not so much a problem, and little Katharine was stillbaby enough to be a joy to the whole house. But between thechildren's meals, their shoes and hats and lessons, Alice was abusy woman, and she realized that her responsibilities mustincrease rather than lessen in the next few years. When Mary wasmarried, and Gogo finishing college, and Martha ready to beentertained and chaperoned by her big sister, then she and Georgemight take Kittiwake and run away; but not now. 

Rachael formed the habit of calling at the Valentine house throughthe wet winds of March and April, coming in upon Alice at allhours, sometimes with the boys, sometimes alone. Alice, in herquiet way, was ready to open her heart completely to her brilliantfriend. Rachael spoke of all topics except one to Alice. Theydiscussed houses and maids, the children, books and plays andplans for the summer, birth and death, the approachingresponsibility of the vote, philosophies and religions, saints andsages. And the day came when Rachael spoke of Warren and ofMargaret Clay. 

It was a quiet, wet spring afternoon, a day when the coming ofgreen leaves could be actually felt in the softened air. The twowomen were upstairs in Alice's white and blue sitting-roomenjoying a wood fire. Jim and Derry were in the playroom withKittiwake; the house was silent, so silent that they could hearthe drumming of rain on the leads, and the lazy purr of the fire. 

Alice was first incredulous, and then stunned at the story. 

Rachael told all she knew, the change in her husband, the openingnight of "The Bad Little Lady, " her lonely dinners and evenings, and Magsie's complacent attitude of possession. 

"Well, " said Alice, who had been an absorbed and astoundedlistener, when she finished, "I confess I don't understand it! IfWarren Gregory is making a fool of himself over Margaret Clay, noone is going to be as much ashamed as he is when he is over it. Ithink with you, " Alice added, much in earnest, "that as far as anyactual infidelity goes, neither one would be CAPABLE of it!Magsie's a selfish little featherhead, but she has her ownadvantage too close at heart, and Warren, no matter whatpreposterous theory he has to explain his interest in Magsie, isn't going to actually do anything that would put him in thewrong!" She paused, but Rachael did not speak, and something inher aspect, as she sat steadily watching the fire, smote Alice tothe heart. "I have never been so shocked and so disappointed in mylife!" Alice went on, "I can't YET believe it! The only thing youcan do is keep quiet and dignified, and wait for the whole thingto wear itself out. This explains the change between George andWarren. I knew George suspected something from the way he tried toshut me up when I saw Warren the other night at the theatre. "

"Now that I've talked about it, " Rachael smiled, "I believe I feelbetter!" And presently she dried her eyes, and even laughed atherself a little as she and Alice fell to talking of other things. When Rachael, a boy in each hand, said good-bye, and went out intothe pale, late afternoon sunshine that followed the rain, Aliceaccompanied her to the door, and stood for a moment with her atthe top of the street steps. 

"You're so lovely, Rachael, " said her friend affectionately. "Itdoesn't seem right to have anything ever trouble anyone sopretty!"

Rachael only smiled doubtfully in answer, but Derry and Jim talkedall the way home, their mother listening in silence. She foundtheir conversation infinitely more amusing when uninfluenced byher. Both were naturally observant, Jim logical and reasonable, Derry always misled by his fancy and his dreams. When Tim was alion, he was a lion who lived in the Gregory nursery, sat in thechairs that belonged to the Gregory children, and preyed upontheir toys, as toys. But Derry was a beast of another calibre. Thepolished nursery floor was the still water of jungle pools, andthe cribs were trees which a hideous and ferocious beast, radically differing in every way from little Gerald Gregory, climbed at will. Jim was a lion who liked to be interrupted bygrown-ups, who was laughing at his make-believe all the time, butDerry was so frightfully in earnest as to often terrify himself, and almost always impress his brother, with his roarings andravaging. 

To-day their conversation ran along pleasantly; they werecompanionable little brothers, and only unmanageable whenseparated. 

"All the men walking home will get their feet horrid an' wet, "said Jim, "and then the ladies will scold 'em!"

"This would be a great, big ocean for a fairy, " Derry commented, flicking a wide puddle with a well-protected little foot. "Jim, "he added in an anxious undertone, "could a fairy drown?"

"Not if he had his swimming belt on, " Jim said hardily. 

"All the fairies have to take little white rose leaves, and makethemselves swimming belts, " Derry said dreamily, "'r else theirmothers won't let them go swimming, will they, Mother?"

They did not wait for her answer, and Rachael was free to returnto her own thoughts. But the interruption roused her, and shewatched the little pair with pleasure as they trotted before heron the drying sidewalks. Derry was blond and Jim dark, yet theylooked alike, both with Rachael's dark, expressive eyes, and withtheir father's handsome mouth and sudden, appealing smile. ButRachael fancied that her oldest son was most like his father intype, and found it hard to be as stern with Jim as she was withthe impulsive reckless, eager Derry, whose faults were more apt tobe her own. 

To-night she went with them to the nursery, where their littletable was already set for supper and their small white bedsalready neatly turned down. 

"Mother's going to give us our baths!" shouted Jim. Both boyslooked at her eagerly; Rachael smiled doubtfully. 

"Mother's afraid that she will have to dress, to meet Daddydowntown, " she began regretfully, when old Mary interposedrespectfully:

"Excuse me, Mrs. Gregory. But Dennison took a message from Doctorthis afternoon. I happen to know it because Louise asked me if Ididn't think she had better order dinner for you. Doctor has beencalled to Albany on a case, and was to let you know when to expecthim. "

"Goody--goody--good-good!" shouted Jim, and Derry joined in with atriumphant shriek, and clasped his arms tightly about his mother'sknees. Rachael had turned a little pale, but she kissed both boys, and only left them long enough to change her gown to somethingloose and comfortable. 

Then she came back to the nursery, and there were baths, andgames, and suppers, and then stories and prayers before the fire, Mary and Rachael laughing over the fluffy heads, revelling in thebeauty of the little bodies. 

When they were in bed she went down to a solitary dinner, and, asshe ate it, her thoughts went back to other solitary dinners yearsago. Utter discouragement and something like a great, all-enveloping fear possessed her. She was afraid of life. She haddented her armor, broken her steel, she had been flung back andworsted in the fight. 

What was the secret, then, Rachael asked the fire, if youth andbeauty and high hopes and great love failed like so many straws?Why was Alice contented, and she, Rachael, torn by a thousandconflicting hopes and fears? Why was it, that with all hercleverness, and all her beauty, the woman who had been RachaelFairfax, and Rachael Breckenridge, and Rachael Gregory, had neveryet felt sure of joy, had never dared lay hands upon it boldly, and know it to be her own, had trembled, and apprehended, anddistrusted where women of infinitely lesser gifts had been able toenter into the kingdom with such utter certainty and serenity?

Sitting through the long evening by the fire, in the drowsysilence of the big drawing-room, Rachael felt her eyes grow heavy. Who was unhappy, who was happy--what was all life about anyway--

Dennison and old Mary came in at eleven, and looked at her for along five minutes. Their eyes said a great many things, althoughneither spoke aloud. The fire had burned low, the light of ashaded lamp fell softly on the sleeping woman's face. There was alittle frown between the beautiful brows, and once she sighedlightly, like a child. 

The man stepped softly back into the hall, and Mary touched hermistress. 

"Mrs. Gregory, you've dropped off to sleep!"

Rachael roused, looked up, smiling bewilderedly. Her look seemedto search the shadows beyond the old woman's form. Slowly the newlook of strain and sorrow came back into her eyes. 

"Why, so I did!" she said, getting to her feet. "I think I'll goupstairs. Any message from Doctor Gregory?"

"No message, Mrs. Gregory. "

"Thank you, Mary, good-night!" Rachael went slowly out through thedimly lighted arch of the hall doorway, and slowly upstairs. Shedeliberately passed the nursery door. Her heart was too full torisk a visit to the boys to-night. She lighted her room and sankdazedly into a chair. 

"I dreamed that we were just married, and in the old studio, " shesaid, half aloud. "I dreamed I had the old-feeling again, of beingso sure, and so beloved! I thought Warren had come home early andhad brought me violets!"

CHAPTER VII

A day later Dennison brought up the card of Miss Margaret Clay. Rachael turned it slowly in her hands, pondering, with a quickenedheartbeat and a fluctuating color. Magsie had been often a guestin Rachael's house a year ago, but she had not been to see Rachaelfor a long time now. They were to meet, they were to talk alonetogether--what about? There was nothing about which RachaelGregory cared to talk to Margaret Clay. 

A certain chilliness and trembling smote Rachael, and she satdown. She wished she had been out. It would be simple enough tosend down a message to that effect, of course, but that was notthe same thing. That would be evading the issue, whereas, had shebeen out, she could not have held herself responsible for missingMagsie. 

Well, the girl was in the neighborhood, of course, and had simplycome in to say now do you do? But it would mean evasions, andaffectations, and insincerities to talk with Magsie; it would meanlying, unless there must be an open breach. Rachael found herselfin a state of actual dread of the encounter, and to end it, impatient at anything so absurd, she asked Dennison to bring theyoung lady at once to her own sitting-room. 

This was the transformed apartment that had been old Mrs. Gregory's, running straight across the bedroom floor, andcommanding from four wide windows a glimpse of the old square, nowbrave in new feathery green. Rachael had replaced its dull red repwith modern tapestries, had had it papered in peacock and gray, had covered the old, dark woodwork with cream-colored enamel andreplaced the black marble mantel with a simply carved one of whitestone. The chairs here were all comfortable now; Rachael's booklay on a magazine-littered table, a dozen tiny, leather-casedanimals, cows, horses, and sheep, were stabled on the hearth, andthe spring sunlight poured in through fragile curtains of crispnet. Over the fireplace the great oil portrait of Warren Gregorysmiled down, a younger Warren, but hardly more handsome than hewas to-day. A pastel of the boys' lovely heads hung opposite it, between two windows, and photographs of Jim and Derry and theirfather were everywhere: on the desk, on the little grand piano, under the table lamp. This was Rachael's own domain, and in askingMagsie to come here she consciously chose the environment in whichshe would feel most at ease. 

Upstairs came the light, tripping feet. "In here?" said the fresh, confident voice. Magsie came in. 

Rachael met her at the door, and the two women shook hands. Magsiehardly glanced at her hostess, her dancing scrutiny swept the roomand settled on Warren's portrait. 

She looked her prettiest, Rachael decided miserably. She was allin white: white shoes, white stockings, the smartest of littlewhite suits, a white hat half hiding her heavy masses of trimlybanded golden hair. If her hard winter had tired Magsie--"The BadLittle Lady" was approaching the end of its run--she did not showit. But there was some new quality in her face, some qualityalmost wistful, almost anxious, that made its appeal even toWarren Gregory's wife. 

"This is nice of you, Magsie, " Rachael said, watching her closely, and conscious still of that absurd flutter at her heart. Bothwomen had seated themselves, now Rachael reached for the silk-lined basket where she kept a little pretence of needlework, andbegan to sew. There were several squares of dark rich silks in thebasket, and their touch seemed to give her confidence. 

"What are you making?" said Magsie with a rather touching pretenceat interest. Rachael began to perceive that Magsie was ill atease, too. She knew the girl well enough to know that nothing buther own affairs interested her; it was not like Magsie to askseriously about another woman's sewing. 

"Warren likes silk handkerchiefs, " explained Rachael, all thecapable wife, "and those I make are much prettier than those hecan find in the shops. So I pick up pieces of silk, from time totime, and keep him supplied. "

"He always has beautiful handkerchiefs, " said Magsie ratherfaintly. "I remember, years ago, when I was with Mrs. Torrence, thinking that Greg always looked so--so carefully groomed. "

"A doctor has to be, " Rachael answered sensibly. There were nogirlish vapors or uncertainties about her manner; she had been theman's wife for nearly seven years; she was in his house; she neednot fear Magsie Clay. 

"I suppose so, " Magsie said vaguely. 

"What are your plans, Magsie?" Rachael asked kindly, as shethreaded a needle. 

"We close on the eighteenth, " Magsie announced. 

"Yes, so I noticed. " Rachael had looked for this news every weeksince the run of the play began. "Well, that was a successfulengagement, wasn't it?" she asked. It began to be rather asatisfaction to Rachael to find herself at such close quarters atlast. What a harmless little thing this dreaded opponent was, after all!

"Yes, they were delighted, " Magsie responded still in such alackadaisical, toneless, and dreary manner that Rachael glanced ather in surprise. Magsie's eyes were full of tears. 

"Why, what's the matter, my dear child?" she asked, feeling moresure of herself every instant. 

Her guest took a little handkerchief from her pretty white leatherpurse, and touched her bright brown eyes with it lightly. 

"I'll tell you, Rachael, " said she, with an evident effort atbrightness and naturalness, "I came here to see you aboutsomething to-day, but I--I don't quite know how to begin. Only, whatever you think about it, I want you to remember that youropinion is what counts; you're the one person who--who can reallyadvise me, and--and perhaps help me and other people out of adifficulty. "

Rachael looked at her with a twinge of inward distaste. Thisrather dramatic start did not promise well; she was to be treatedto some youthful heroics. Instantly the hope came to her thatMagsie had some new admirer, someone she would really consider asa husband, and wanted to make of Rachael an advocate with Warren, who, in his present absurd state of infatuation, might not findsuch a situation to his taste. 

"I want to put to you the case of a friend of mine, " Magsie saidpresently, "a girl who, like myself, is on the stage. " Rachaelwondered if the girl really hoped to say anything convincing underso thin a disguise, but said nothing herself, and Magsie went on:"She's pretty, and young--" Her tone wavered. "We've had a nicecompany all winter, " she remarked lamely. 

This was beginning to be rather absurd. Rachael, quite at ease, raised mildly interrogatory eyes to Magsie. 

"You'll go on with your work, now that you've begun so well, won'tyou?" she asked casually. 

"W--w--well, I suppose so, " Magsie answered dubiously, flushing asudden red. "I--don't know what I shall do!"

"But surely you've had an unusually encouraging beginning?"pursued Rachael comfortably. 

"Oh, yes, there's no doubt about that, at least!" Magsie said. About what was there doubt, then? Rachael wondered. 

She deliberately allowed a little silence to follow this remark, smiling, as if at her own thoughts, as she sewed. The youngerwoman's gaze roved restlessly about the room, she leaned from herchair to take a framed photograph of the boys from a low bookcase, and studied it with evidently forced attention. 

"They're stunning!" she said in an undertone as she laid it aside. 

"They're good little boys, " their mother said contentedly. "I knowthat the queerest persons in the world, about eating and drinking, are actresses, Magsie, " she added, smiling, "so I don't knowwhether to offer you tea, or hot soup, or an egg beaten up inmilk, or what! We had a pianist here about a year ago, and--"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, thank you, Rachael!" Magsie said eagerlyand nervously. "I couldn't--"

"The boys may be in soon, " Rachael remarked, choosing to ignoreher guest's rather unexpected emotion. 

This seemed to spur Magsie suddenly into speech. She glanced atthe tall old moonfaced clock that was slowly ticking near thedoor, as if to estimate the time left her, and sat suddenly erecton the edge of her chair. 

"I mustn't stay, "' she said breathlessly. "I--I have to be back atthe theatre at seven, and I ought to go home first for a fewminutes. My girl--she's just a Swedish woman that I picked up bychance--worries about me as if she were my mother, unless I comein and rest, and take an eggnog, or something. " She rallied herforces with a quite visible effort. "It was just this, Rachael, "said Magsie, looking at the fire, and twisting her white gloves indesperate embarrassment, "I know you've always liked me, you'vealways been so kind to me, and I can only hope that you'll forgiveme if what I say sounds strange to you. I thought I could comehere and say it, but--I've always been a little bit afraid of you, Rachael--and I"--Magsie laughed nervously--"and I'm scared todeath now!" she said simply. 

Something natural, unaffected, and direct in her usually self-conscious and artificial manner struck Rachael with a vague senseof uneasiness. Magsie certainly did not seem to be acting now;there were real tears in her pretty eyes, and a genuine break inher young voice. 

"I'm going straight ahead, " she said rapidly, "because I've beengetting up my courage this whole week to come and see you, andnow, while Greg is in Albany, I can't put it off any longer. Hedoesn't know it, of course, and, although I know I'm puttingmyself entirely at your mercy, Rachael, I believe you'll nevertell him if I ask you not to!"

"I don't understand, " Rachael said slowly. 

"I've been thinking it all out, " Magsie went on, "and this is theconclusion--at least, this is what I've thought! You have alwayshad everything, Rachael. You've always been so beautiful, and somuch admired. You loved Clarence, and married him--oh, don't thinkI'm rude, Rachael, " the girl pleaded eagerly, as Rachael voiced aninarticulate protest, "because I'm so desperately in earnest, ands-s-so desperately unhappy!" Her voice broke on a rush of tears, but she commanded it, and hurried on. "You've always beenfortunate, not like other women, who had to be second best, butALWAYS the cleverest, and ALWAYS the handsomest! I remember, whenI heard you were to marry Greg, I was just sick with misery fortwo or three days! I had seen him a few weeks before in Paris, buthe said nothing of it, didn't even mention you. Don't think I wasjealous, Rachael--it wasn't that. But it seemed to me that you hadeverything! First the position of marrying a Breckenridge, then tostep straight into Greg's life. You'll never know how I--how Isingled you out to watch--"

"Just as I have singled you out this horrible winter, " Rachaelsaid to herself, in strange pain and bewilderment at heart. Magsiewatched her hopefully, but Rachael did not speak, and the girlwent on:

"When I came to America I thought of you, and I listened to whateveryone said of you. You had a splendid boy, named for Greg, andthen another boy; you were richer and happier and more admiredthan ever! And Rachael--I know you'll forgive me--you were so muchFINER than ever--when I met you I saw that. I couldn't dislikeyou, I couldn't do anything but admire, with all the others. Iremember at Leila's wedding, when you wore dark blue and furs, andyou looked so lovely! And then I met Greg again. And truly, truly, Rachael, I never dreamed of this then!"

"Dreamed of what?" Rachael said with dry lips. The girl's voice, the darkening room, the dull, fluttering flames of the dying fire, seemed all like some oppressive dream. 

"Dreamed--" Magsie's voice sank. Her eyes closed, she put one handover her heart, and pressed it there. "Then came my plan to go onthe stage, " she said, taking up her story, "and one day, when Iwas especially blue, I met Greg. We had tea together. I've neverforgotten one instant of that day! He tried to telephone you, butcouldn't get you; we just talked like any friends. But he promisedto help me, he was so interested, and I was homesick for Paris, and ready to die in this awful city! After that you gave me adinner, and then we had theatricals, and then Bowman placed me, and I had to go on the road. But I saw Greg two or three times, and one day--one day last winter"--again her voice faltered, as ifshe found the memories too poignant for speech--"we drove in thePark, " she said dreamily; "and then Greg saw how it was. "

Rachael sat silent, stunned. 

"Oh, Rachael, " the girl said passionately. "Don't think I didn'tfight it! I thought of you, I tried to think for us all. I said wewould never see each other again, and I went away--you know that!For months after that day in the Park we hardly saw each other. And then, last summer, we met again. And he talked to me sowonderfully, Rachael, about making the best of it, about beinggood friends anyway--and I've lived on that! But I can't live onthat forever, Rachael. "

"You've been seeing each other?" Rachael asked stupidly. 

"Oh, every day! At tea, you know, or sometimes especially beforeyou came back, at dinner. And, Rachael, nobody will ever know whatit's done for me! Greg's managed all my business, and whenever Iwas utterly discouraged and tired he had the kindest way ofsaying: 'Never mind, Magsie, I'm tired and discouraged, too!'"Magsie's face glowed happily at the memory of it. "I know I'm notworthy of Greg's friendship, " she said eagerly. "And all the timeI've thought of you, Rachael, as having the first right, as beingfar, far above me in everything! But--I'm telling you everything, you see--" Magsie interrupted herself to explain. 

"Go on!" Rachael urged, clearing her throat. 

"Well, it's not much. But a week or two ago Greg was talking to meabout your being eager to get the boys into the country early thisyear. He looked awfully tired that afternoon, and he said that hethought he would close this house, and live at the club thissummer, and he said 'That means you have a dinner date everynight, Magsie!' And suddenly, Rachael--I don't know what came overme, but I burst out crying"--Magsie's eyes filled now as shethought of it--"and I said, 'Oh, Greg, we need each other! Whycan't we belong to each other! You love me and I love you; whycan't we give up our work and the city and everything else, andjust be happy!'"

"And what did--Warren say?" Rachael asked in a whisper. 

"Oh, Rachael! That's what I've been remembering ever since!"Magsie said. "That's what made me want to come to you; I KNEW youwould understand! You're so good; you want people to be happy, "said Magsie, fighting tears again and trying to smile. "You haveeverything: your sons, your position, your beauty--everything!I'm--I'm different from some women, Rachael. I can't just run awaywith him. There is an honorable and a right way to do it, and Iwant to ask you if you'll let us take that way!"

"An honorable way?" Rachael echoed in an unnatural voice. 

"Well--" Magsie widened innocent eyes. "Nobody has ever blamed YOUfor taking it, Rachael!" she said simply. "And nobody ever blamedClarence, with Paula!"

Rachael, looking fixedly at her, sat as if turned to stone. 

"You are brave, Magsie, to come and tell me this, " she said atlast quietly. 

"You are kind to listen to me, " Magsie answered with disarmingsincerity. "I know it is a strange thing to do. " She laughednervously. "Of course, I know THAT!" she added. "But it came to methat I would the other day. Greg and I were talking about dreams, you know--things we wanted to do. And we talked about going awayto some beach, and swimming, and moonlight, and just rest--andquiet--"

"I see, " Rachael said. 

"Greg said, 'This is only a dream, Magsie, and we mustn't letourselves dream!'" Magsie went on. "But--but sometimes dreams cometrue, don't they?"

She stopped. There was an unearthly silence in the room. 

"I've tried to fight it, and I cannot, " Magsie presently said in asmall, tired voice; "it comes between me and everything I do. I'mnot a great actress--I know that. I don't even want to be anymore. I want to go away where no one will ever see me or hear ofme again. I've heard of this--feeling"--she sent Rachael a braveif rather uncertain smile--"but I never believed in it before! Inever believed that when--when you care"--Rachael was grateful tobe spared the great word--"you can't live or breathe or thinkanything"--again there was an evasion--"but the one thing!"

And with a long, tired sigh, again she relapsed into silence. Rachael could find nothing to say. 

"Honestly, HONESTLY, " the younger woman presently added, "youmustn't think that either one of us saw this coming! We weresimply carried away. It was only this year, only a few months ago, that I began to think that perhaps--perhaps if you understood, youwould set--Greg free. You want to live just for the boys, you lovethe country, and books, and a few friends. Your life would go on, Rachael, just as it has, only he would be happy, and I would behappy. Oh, my God, " said Magsie, with quivering lips and brimmingeyes, "how happy I would be!"

Rachael looked at her in impassive silence. 

"At all events, " the visitor said more composedly, "I have beenplanning for a week to come to you, Rachael, and have this talk. Imay have done more harm than good--I don't know; but from theinstant I thought of it I have simply been drawn, as if I wereunder a spell. I haven't said what I meant to, I know that. Ihaven't said"--her smile was wistful and young and sweet, as, rising from her chair, she stood looking down at Rachael--"howbadly I feel that it--it happens so, " said Magsie. "But you knowhow deeply I've always admired you! It must seem strange to youthat I would come to you about it. But Ruskin, wasn't it, andWagner--didn't they do something like this? I knew, even if thingswere changed between you and Greg, that you would be big enoughand good enough to help us all to find the--the solution, if thereis one!"

Rachael stood up, too, so near her guest that she could put onehand on Magsie's shoulder. The girl looked up at her with thefaith of a distressed child. 

"I'm glad you did come, Magsie, " said Rachael painfully, "althoughI never dreamed, until this afternoon, that--this--could possiblyhave been in Warren's thoughts. You speak of--divorce, quitenaturally, as of course anyone may, to me. But I never had thoughtof it. It's a sad tangle, whatever comes of it, and perhaps you'reright in feeling that we had better face it, and try to find thesolution, if, as you say, there is one. "

And Rachael, breathing a little hard, stood looking down at Magsiewith something so benign, so tragic, and so heroic in herbeautiful face that the younger woman was a little awed, even alittle puzzled, where she had been so sure. She would have likedto put her arms about her hostess's neck, and to seal theirextraordinary treaty with a kiss, but she knew better. As wellattempt to kiss the vision of a ministering angel. Rachael, onearm on Magsie's shoulder, her whole figure and her face expressingpainful indecision, had never seemed so remote, so goddesslike. 

"And--and you won't tell him of this?" faltered Magsie. 

"Ah--you must leave that to me, " Rachael said with a sad smile. 

For a few seconds longer they looked at each other. Then Rachaeldropped her arm, and Magsie moved a little. The visitor knew thatanother sentence must be in farewell, but she felt strangelyawkward, curiously young and crude. Rachael, except for thefalling of her arm, was motionless. Her eyes were far away, sheseemed utterly unconscious of herself and her surroundings. Magsiewanted to think of one more thing to say, one clinching sentence, but everything seemed to be said. Something of the other woman'sweariness and coldness of spirit seemed to communicate itself toher; she felt tired and desolate. It seemed a small andinsignificant matter that she had had her momentous talk withRachael, and had succeeded in her venture. Love was failing her, life was failing. 

"I hope--I haven't distressed you--too awfully, Rachael, " Magsiefaltered. She had not thought of herself, a few hours ago, asdistressing Rachael at all. She had thought that Rachael might bescornful, might be cold, might overwhelm her with her magnificenceof manner, and shame her for her daring. She had come in on asudden impulse, and had had no time for any thought but that herrevelation would be exciting and dramatic and astonishing. She wassincerely anxious to have Warren freed, but not so swept away byemotion that she could not appreciate this lovely setting and herown picturesque position in the eyes of her beautiful rival. 

"Oh, no!" Rachael answered, perfunctorily polite, and with hereyes still fixed darkly on space. And as if half to herself, sheadded, in a breathless, level undertone:

"It all rests with Warren!"

Presently Magsie breathed a faint "Good-bye, " following it with analmost inaudible murmur that Dennison would let her out. Then thewhite figure was gone from the gloom of the room, and Rachael wasalone. 

For a time she was so dazed, so emotionally exhausted by the eventof the last hour, that she stood on, fixed, unseeing, one handpressed against her side as if she stopped with it the mouth of awound. Occasionally she drew a long, sharp breath as the dyingsometimes breathe. 

"It all rests with Warren, " she said presently, half-aloud, and ina toneless, passive voice. And slowly she turned and slowly wentto the window. 

The room was dark, but twilight lingered in the old square, andhome-going men and women were filing across it. The babies andtheir nurses were gone now, there were only lounging men on thebenches. Lumbering green omnibuses rocked their way through thegreat stone arch, and toward the south, over the crowded foreignquarter, the pink of street lamps was beginning to battle with thewarm purple and blue that still hung in the evening sky. Theseason had been long delayed, but now there was a rustle of greenagainst the network of boughs; a few warm days would bring thetulips and the fruit blossoms. 

What a sweet, good, natural world it was in which to be happy!With its wheeling motor cars, its lovers seated in high securityfor the long omnibus ride, its laborers pleasantly ready for thehome table and the day's domestic news! The chattering littleJewish girls from one of the uptown department stores were gaywith shrilly voiced plans; the driver, riding lazily home on apile of empty bags, had no quarrel with the world; the smooth-haired, unhatted Italian women from the Ghetto, with shawlswrapped over their full breasts, and serene black-eyed babiestoddling beside them, were placidly content with the run of theirdays. It remained for the beautiful woman in the drawing-room tolook with melancholy eyes upon the springtime, and tear out herheart in an agony no human power could cure. 

"It all rests with Warren, " Rachael said. Magsie was nothing, shewas nothing; the world, the boys, were nothing. It was for Warrento hold their destinies in his hands and decide for them all. Nouse in raging, in reasoning, in arguing. No use in setting forththe facts, the palpable right and wrong. No use in bitterly askingthe unanswering heavens if this were right and just, this systemthat could allow any young girl to feel any married man, anyfather, her natural prey. She had come to love Warren just as in afew years she might come to love someone else. That was allpermissible; regrettable perhaps for Warren's wife, anunmistakable calamity for Warren's boys, but, from Magsie'sstandpoint, comprehensible and acceptable. If Warren were free, Magsie was well within her rights; if he were not, Rachael was thelast woman in the world to dispute it. 

After a while Rachael began to move mechanically about the room. She sat down at her desk and wrote a few checks; the boys littlefirst dancing lessons must be paid for, the man who mended theclock, the woman who had put all her linen in order. She wrotebriskly, reaching quickly for envelopes and stamps, and, when shehad finished, closed the desk with her usual neatness. Shetelephoned the kitchen; had she told Louise that Doctor Gregorymight come home at midnight? He might be at home for breakfast. Then she glanced about the quiet room, and went softly out, through the inner door, to her own bedroom adjoining. She walkedon little usual errands between bureau and wardrobe, steadilyproceeding with the changing of her gown. Once she stopped short, in the centre of the floor, and stood musing for a few silentminutes, then she said, aloud and lightly:

"Poor Magsie--it's all so absurd!"

If for a few seconds her thoughts wandered, they always cameswiftly back. Magsie and Warren had fallen in love with eachother--wanted to marry each other. Rachael tried to marshal herwhirling thoughts; there must be simple reason somewhere in thischaotic matter. She had the desperate sensation of a mad-womantrying to prove herself sane. Were they all crazy, to have gotthemselves into this hideous fix? What was definite, what factshad they upon which to build their surmises?

Warren was her husband, that was one fact; Warren loved her, thatwas another. They had lived together for nearly eight years, planned together, they knew each other now, heart and soul. Andthere were two sons. These being facts for Rachael, what facts hadMagsie? Rachael's heart rose on a wild rush of confidence. Magsiehad no basis for her pretension. Magsie was young, and she hadmadly and blindly fallen in love. There was her single claim: sheloved. Rachael could not doubt it after that hour in the sitting-room. But what pitiable folly! To love and to admit love foranother woman's husband!

Thinking, thinking, thinking, Rachael lay awake all night. Shecomposed herself a hundred times for sleep, and a hundred timessleep evaded her. Magsie--Warren--Rachael. Their names swept roundand round in her tired brain. She was talking to Magsie, soeloquently and kindly; she was talking to Warren. Warren wasshocked at the mere thought of her suspicions, had seen nothing, had suspected nothing, couldn't believe that Rachael could be sofoolish! Warren's arms were about her, he was going to take herand the boys away. This was a bad atmosphere for wives, thisdiseased and abnormal city, Warren said. She was buying steamercoats for Derry and Jim--

Magsie! Again the girl's tense, excited face rose before Rachael'sfevered memory. "You mustn't think either one of us saw thiscoming!"

Rachael rose on her elbow, shook her pillows, flashed a night-light on her watch. Quarter to three. It was a rather dismal hour, she thought, not near enough either midnight or morning. Tossingso long, she would be sleepless all night now. 

Well, what was marriage anyway? Was there never a time ofserenity, of surety? Was any pretty, irresponsible young womanfree to set her heart upon another woman's husband, the father ofanother woman's children? Rachael suddenly thought of Clarence. How different the whole thing had seemed then! Clarence's pride, Clarence's child, had they been so hurt as her pride and herchildren were to be hurt now?

She must not allow herself to be so easily frightened. She hadbeen thinking too many months of the one thing; she could not seeit fairly. Why, Magsie had been infinitely more dangerous in theearly days of her success; there was nothing to fear from thesimple, apprehensive Magsie of this afternoon! The only sensiblething was to stop thinking of it, and to go to sleep. But Rachaelfelt sick and frightened, experienced sensations of faintness, sensations like hunger. Her eyes seemed painfully open, she couldnot shut them. Her breath came fitfully. She sighed, turned on herside. She would count one hundred, breathing deep and with closedeyes. "Sixteen, seventeen!" Rachael sat suddenly erect, and lookedat her watch again. Twenty-two minutes past three. 

Morning broke with wind and rain; the new leaves in the squarewere tossing wildly; sleet struck noisily against the windows. Rachael, waking exhausted, after not more than an hour's sleep, went through the process of dressing in a weary daze. The boys, aswas usual, came in during the hour, full of fresh conversation andeager to discuss plans for the day. Jim tied strings from knob toknob of her bureau drawers, Derry amused himself by dashing achain of glass beads against the foot of the bed until the linksgave and the tiny balls rolled in every direction over the floor. 

"Never mind, " Rachael consoled the discomfited junior, "Paulinewill come in and pick them all up. Mother doesn't care!"

Derry, however, howled on unconsoled, and Rachael, stopping, half-dressed, to take him in her arms, mused while she kissed him overthe tiny sorrow that could so convulse him. Was she no more than ahowling baby robbed of a toy? Nothing could be more real thanDerry's sense of loss, no human being could weep more desolatelyor more unreasonably. Were her love and her life no more than astring of baubles, scattered and flung about by some irresponsiblehand? Was nothing real except the great moving sea and the arch ofstars above the spring nights? Life and death, and laughter andtears, how unimportant they were! Eight years ago she had feltherself to be unhappy; now she knew that in those days she hadknown neither sorrow nor joy. Since then, what an ecstasy offulfilled desire had been hers! She had lived upon the heights, she had tasted the fullest and the sweetest of human emotions. What other woman--Cleopatra, Helen, all the great queens ofcountries and of art--had known more exquisite delight than hershad been in those first days when she had waited for Warren tocome to her with violets?

The morning went on like an ugly dream. At nine o'clock Rachaelsent down an untouched breakfast tray. Mary took the boys out intothe struggling sunshine. The house was still. 

Rachael lay on her wide couch, staring wretchedly into space. Herhead ached. The moonfaced clock struck a slow ten, the hall clockdownstairs following it with a brisk silver chime. Vendors in thesquare called their wares; the first carts of potted springflowers were going their rounds. 

Shortly after ten o'clock she heard Warren run upstairs and intohis room. She could hear his voice at the telephone; he wanted thehospital--Doctor Gregory wished to speak to Miss Moore. 

Miss Moore? Doctor Gregory would be there at eleven . .. Pleasehave everything ready. Miss Moore, who was a veteran nurse and aprivileged character, asked some question as to the Albany case;Warren wearily answered that the patient had not rallied; it wastoo bad--too bad. 

Once it would have been Rachael's delight to soothe him, to givehim the strong coffee he needed before eleven o'clock, to askabout the poor Albany man. Now she hardly heard him. Beginning totremble, she sat up, her heart beating fast. 

"Warren!" she called in a shaken voice. 

He came to her door immediately, and they faced each other, hisperfunctory greeting arrested by her look. 

"Warren, " said Rachael with a desperate effort at control, "I wantyou to tell me about--about you and Magsie Clay. "

Instantly his face darkened. He gazed back at her steadily, narrowing his eyes. 

"What about it?" he asked sharply. 

Rachael knew that she was growing angry against her passionateresolution to keep the conversation in her own hands. 

"Magsie came to see me yesterday, " she said, panting. 

Had she touched him? She could not tell. There was no wavering inhis impassive face. 

"What about it?" he asked again after a silence. 

His wife pushed the rich, tumbled hair from her face with a wildgesture, as if she fought for air. 

"What about it?" she echoed, in a constrained tone, still withthat quickened shallow breath. "Do you think it is CUSTOMARY for agirl to come to a man's wife, and tell her that she cares for him?Do you think it is CUSTOMARY for a man to have tea every day witha young actress who admits she is in love with him--"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Warren said, his face adull red. 

"Do you mean to tell me that you don't know that Margaret Claycares for you, " Rachael asked in rising anger, "and that you havenever told her you care for her--that you and she have nevertalked about it, have never wished that you were free to belong toeach other!"

"You will make yourself ill!" Warren said quietly, watching her. 

His tone brought Rachael abruptly to her senses. Fury andaccusation were not her best defence. With Warren calm anddignified she would only hurt her claim by this course. In asecond she was herself again, her breath grew normal, shestraightened her hair, and with a brief shrug walked slowly fromthe room into her own sitting-room adjoining. Following her, Warren found her looking down at the square from the window. 

"If you are implying anything against Magsie, you are merelymaking yourself ridiculous, Rachael, " he said nervously. "NeitherMagsie nor I have forgotten your claim for a single instant. Ifshe came here and talked to you, she did so absolutely without myknowledge. "

"She said so, " Rachael admitted, heart and mind in a whirl. 

"From a sense of protection--for her, " Warren went on, "I did NOTtell you how much we have come to mean to each other. I amextremely--unwilling--to discuss it now. There is nothing to besaid, as far as I am concerned. It is better not to discuss it; weshall not agree. That Magsie could come here and talk to yousurprises me. I naturally don't know what she said, or whatimpression she gave you. I would only remind you that she isyoung--and unhappy. " He glanced at the morning paper he carried inhis hand with an air of casual interest, and added in a moderateundertone, "It's an unhappy business!"

Rachael stood as if she had been shot through the heart--motionless, dumb. She felt the inward physical convulsion thatmight have followed an actual shot. Her heart seemed to bestruggling under a choking flood, and black circles moved beforeher eyes. 

Watching her, Warren presently began to enlarge upon the subject. His tone was that of frank and unashamed, if regretful, narrative. Rachael perceived, with utter stupefaction, that although he wassorry, and even angry at being drawn into this talk, he was farfrom being confused or ashamed. 

"I am sorry for this, Rachael, " he began in the logical tone sheknew so well. "I think, frankly, that Magsie made a mistake incoming to you. The situation isn't of my making. Magsie, being awoman, being impulsive and impatient, has taken the law into herown hands. " He shrugged. "She may have been wise, or unwise, Ican't tell!"

He paused, but Rachael did not speak or stir. 

Warren had rolled up the paper, and now, in his pacing, reachingthe end of the room, he turned, and, thrusting it into his armpit, came back with folded arms. 

"Now that this thing has come up, " he said in a practical tone, "it is a great satisfaction to me to realize how reasonable awoman you are. I want you to know just how this whole thinghappened. Magsie has always been a most attractive girl to me. Iremember her in Paris, years ago, young, and with a pretty littleway of turning her head, and effective eyes. "

"I know all this, Warren!" Rachael said wearily. 

"I know you do. But let me recapitulate it, " he said, resuming ina businesslike voice: "When I met her at Hoyt's wedding I knewright away that we had a personality to deal with--something rare!I remember thinking then that it would be interesting to see whomshe cared for, what that volcanic little heart would be in love--Time went on; we saw more of her. I met her, now and then, we hadthe theatricals, and the California trip. One day, that fall, inthe Park, I took her for a drive, innocently enough, nothingprearranged. And I remember asking if any lucky man had made animpression upon her. "

Warren smiled, his eyes absent. Rachael's look of superb scorn waswasted. 

"It came to me in a flash, " he went on, "that Magsie had come tocare for me. Poor little Magsie, she hadn't meant to, she hadn'tseen it coming. I remember her looking up at me--she didn't haveto say a word. 'I'm sorry, Magsie, ' I said. That was all. Thetouching thing was that even in that trouble she turned to me. Wetalked it over, I took her back to her hotel, and very simply shesaid, 'Kiss me, once, Greg, and I'll be good!' After that I didn'tsee her for a long, long time. 

"It seemed to me a sacred charge--you can see that. I couldn'tdoubt it, the evidence was right there before my eyes, andthinking it over, I couldn't be much surprised. We were in thefix, and of course there was nothing to be done. She went away andthat was the end of it, then. But when I saw her again last winterthe whole miserable business came up. The rest, of course, shetold you. She is unhappy and rebellious, or she would never havedared to come to you! I can't understand her doing so, now, forMagsie is a good little sport, Rachael; she knows you have theright of way. The affair has always been with that understanding. However much I feel for Magsie, and regret the whole thing--why, Iam not a cad!" He struck her to her heart with his friendly smile. "You brought the subject up; I don't care to discuss it, " he said. "I don't question your actions, and all I ask is that you will notquestion mine!"

"Perhaps--the world--may some day question them, Warren!" Rachaeltried to speak quietly, but she was beginning to be frightened ather own violence. She shook with actual chill, her mouth was dryand her cheeks blazing. 

"The world?" He shrugged. "I can hardly see that it is the world'sbusiness that you go your way and I go mine!" he said reasonably. He glanced at his watch. "Perhaps you will be so good as to say nomore about it?" he suggested. "I have no time, now, anyway. Marriage--"

"Warren!" Rachael interrupted hoarsely. She stopped. 

"Marriage, " he went on, "never stands still! A man and woman aregrowing nearer together hourly, or they are growing apart. Thereis no need, between reasonable beings, for recriminations andbitterness. A man is only a man, after all, and if I have beencarried off my feet by Magsie--as I admit I have been--why, suchthings have happened before! When she and my wife--who might haveprotected my dignity--meet to discuss the question of theirfeelings, and their rights, then I confess that I am beyond mydepth. "

He took a deep chair and sat back, his knees crossed, his elbow onthe chair arm, his chin resting on his hand, as one conscious ofscoring a point. 

"And what about the boys' feelings and rights?" Rachael said in alow, tense tone. 

"There you are!" Warren exclaimed. "It's all absurd on the face ofit--the whole tangle!"

His wife looked at him in grave, dispassionate scrutiny. Of whatwas he made, this handsome, well-groomed man of forty-eight? Whatfatal infection had poisoned heart and brain? She saw him thismorning as a stranger, and as a most repellent stranger. 

"But it is a tangle in which one still sees right and wrong, Warren, " she said, desperately struggling for calm. "Humanrelationships can't be discussed as if they were the moves on achess-board. I make no claim for myself--the time has gone by whenI could do so--but there is honor and decency in the world, thereis simple uprightness! Your attentions, as a married man, can onlydo Magsie harm, and your daring"--suddenly she began restlessly topace the floor as he had done--"your daring in coming here to me, to tell me that any other woman has a claim on you, " she said, beginning to breathe violently, "only shows me how blind, howdrugged you are with--I don't know what to call it--with your ownutter lawlessness! What right has Margaret Clay compared to MYright? Are my claims, and my sons' claims, to be swept asidebecause a little idle girl of Magsie's age chooses to flirt withmy husband? What is marriage, anyway--what is parenthood? Are youmad, Warren, that you can come here to our home and talk of'tangles'--and rights? Do you think I am going to argue it withyou, going to belittle my own position by admitting, for onesecond, that it is open to question?"

She flashed him one blazing look, then resumed her walking and herangry rush of words. 

"Why, if some four-year-old child came in here and began tocontend for Derry's place, " Rachael asked passionately, "how longwould we seriously consider his right? If I must dispute the titleof Magsie Clay this year, why not of Jennie Jones next year, ofPolly Smith the year after that? If--"

"Now you are talking recklessly, " Warren Gregory said quietly, "and you have entirely lost sight of the point at issue. Nobody isattempting a controversy with you. "

The cool, analytical voice robbed Rachael of all her fire. She satdown, and was silent. 

"What you say is quite true, " pursued Warren, "and of course, if awoman chooses to stand on her RIGHTS--if it becomes a question oflegal obligation--"

"Warren! When was our marriage that?"

"I don't say it was that! I am protesting because YOU talk ofrights and titles. I only say that if the problem has come down toa mere question of what is LEGAL, why, that in itself is aconfession of failure!"

"Failure!" she echoed with white lips. 

"I am not speaking of ourselves, I tell you!" he said, annoyed. "But can any sane person in these days deny that when a man andwoman no longer pull together in double harness, our world acceptsan honorable change?"

Rachael was silent. These had been her words eight years ago. 

"They may have reasons for not making that change, " Warren went onlogically; "they may prefer to go on, as thousands of people do, to present a perfectly smooth exterior to the world. But don't beso unfair as to assume that what hundreds of good and reputablemen and women are doing every day is essentially wrong!"

"You know that you may say this--to me, Warren, " she said with aleaden heart. 

"Anybody may say it to anybody!" he answered irritably. "Tying aman and a woman together doesn't necessarily make them--"

She interrupted with a quick, breathless, "WARREN!"

"Well!" Again he shrugged his shoulders and again glanced at hiswatch. "It seems to me that you shouldn't have spoken of thematter if you were not prepared to discuss it!" he said. 

Rachael felt the room whirling. She could neither see nor feelanything now but the fury that possessed her. Perhaps twice in herlife before, never with him, had she so given way to anger. 

"_I_ shouldn't have spoken of it, Warren!" she echoed. "I shouldhave borne it, and smiled, and said nothing! Perhaps I should!Perhaps some women would have done that--"

"Rachael!" he interrupted quickly. But she swept down his words inthe wild tide of her own. 

"Warren!" she said with deadly decision, "I'm not that sort ofwoman. You've had your fun--now it's my turn! Now it's my turn!"Rachael repeated in a voiceless undertone as she rapidly paced theroom. "Now you can turn to the world, and SEE what the worldthinks! Let them know how often you and Magsie have been together, let them know that she came here to ask me to set you free, andthen see what the general verdict is! I'm not going to hush thisup, to refrain from discussing it because you don't care to, because it hurts your feelings! It SHALL be discussed, and youshall be free! You shall be free, and if you choose to put MagsieClay here in my place, you may do so!"

"Rachael!" he said angrily. And he caught her thin wrists in hishands. 

"Don't touch me!" she said, wrenching herself free. "Don't touchme, you cruel and wicked and heartless--! Go to Magsie! Tell herthat I sent you to her! Take your hands off me, Warren--"

Standing back, discomfited, he attempted reason. 

"Rachael! Don't talk so! I don't know what to make of you! Why, Inever saw you like this. I never heard you--"

The door of her room closed behind her. She was gone. A longsilence fell in the troubled room where their voices had warred solately. 

Warren looked at his watch, looked at her door. Then he went outthe other door, and downstairs, and out of the house. Rachaelheard him go. She was still breathing fast, still blind toeverything but her own fury. She would punish him, she wouldpunish him. He should have his verdict from the world he trustedso serenely; he should have his Magsie. 

The clocks struck eleven: first the slow clock in her sitting-room, then the quick silvery echo from downstairs. Rachael glancedabout nervously. The Bank--the boys' lunches--the trunks--

She went downstairs. In the little breakfast-room off the bigdining-room the array of Warren's breakfast waited. Old Mary, withthe boys, had just come in the side door. 

"Mary, " Rachael said quickly, "I want you to help me. Pack someclothes for the boys and me, and give them some luncheon. We aregoing down to Clark's Hills on the two o'clock train--"

"My God! Mrs. Gregory, you look very bad, my dear!" said Mary. 

The unconscious endearment, the shock and concern visible onMary's homely, honest face were too much for Rachael. Her facechanged to ivory, she put one hand to her throat, and her lipsquivered. 

"Help me--some coffee--Mary!" she whispered. "I think--I'm dying!"

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

Warren went to the hospital and performed his operation. It was along, hard strain for all concerned, and the nurses told eachother afterward that you could see Doctor Gregory's heart was init, he looked as bad as the child's father and mother did. It wasafter one o'clock when the surgeons got out of their white gowns, and Warren was in the cold, watery sunlight of the street beforehe realized that he had had nothing to eat since his dinner inAlbany last night. 

He looked about vaguely; there were plenty of places all aboutwhere he could get a meal. He saw Magsie--

Magsie often drove about in hansom-cabs--they were one of herdelights; and more than once of late she had come to meet Warrenat some hospital, or even to pick him up at the club. But this wasthe first time that she had done so without prearrangement. 

She leaned out of the cab, a picture of youth and beauty, andwaved a white glove. How did she know he was in here? she echoedhis question. He had written her from Albany that he would operateat Doctor Berry's hospital this morning she reminded him. Andwhere was he going now?

"I'm awfully worried this morning, honey-girl, " said Warren, "andI can't stop to play with nice little Magsies in new blue dresses!My head is blazing, and I believe I'll go home--"

"When did you get in, and where did you have breakfast?" she askedwith pretty concern. "Greg, you've not had any? Oh, I believe hehasn't had any! And it's after one, and you've been operating! GetSTRAIGHT in--"

"No, dear!" he smiled as she moved to one side of the seat, andpacked her thin skirts neatly under her, "not to-day! I'll--"

"Warren Gregory!" said Magsie sternly, "you get right straight inhere, and come and have your breakfast! Now, what's nearest? TheBiltmore!" She poked the upper door with her slim umbrella. "Tothe Biltmore!" commanded Magsie. 

At a quiet table Warren had coffee and eggs and toast, and morecoffee, and finally his cigar. The color came back into his face, and he looked less tired. 

Magsie was a rather simple little soul under her casing ofParisian veneer, and was often innocently surprised at the potencyof her own charm. That men, big men and wise men, were inclined totake her artful artlessness at its surface value was a continualrevelation to her. Like Rachael, she had gone to bed the nightbefore in a profoundly thoughtful frame of mind, a littleapprehensive as to Warren's view of her call, and uneasy as to thestate in which she had left his wife. But, unlike Rachael, Magsiehad not been wakeful long. The consideration of other people'sattitudes never troubled her for more than a few consecutiveminutes. She had been genuinely stirred by her talk thatafternoon, and was honestly determined to become Mrs. WarrenGregory; but these feelings did not prevent her from looking back, with thrilled complacence, to the scene in Rachael's sitting-room, and from remembering that it was a dramatic and heroic thing for aslender, pretty girl in white to go to a man's wife and plead forher love. "No harm done, anyway!" Magsie had reflected drowsily, drifting off to sleep; and she had awakened conscious of noemotion stronger than a mild trepidation at the possibility ofWarren's wrath. 

Dainty and sweet, she came to meet him halfway, and now satcongratulating herself that he was soothed, fed, and placidlysmoking before their conversation reached deep channels. 

"Greg, dear, I've got a horrible confession to make!" began Magsiewhen this propitious moment arrived. 

"You mean your call on Rachael?" he asked quickly, the shadowcoming back to his eyes. "Why did you do it?"

Magsie was conscious of being frightened. 

"Was she surprised, Greg?"

"I don't know that she was surprised. Of course she was angry. "

"Well, " Magsie said, widening her childish eyes, "didn't youEXPECT her to be angry?"

"I didn't expect her to take any attitude whatever, " Warren saidwith a look half puzzled and half reproving. 

"Greg!" Magsie was quite honestly astonished. "What did you expecther to do? Give you a divorce without any feeling whatever?"

There was no misunderstanding her. For a full minute Warren staredat her in silence. In that minute he remembered some of his recenttalks with Magsie, some of his notes and presents, he rememberedthe plan that involved a desert island, sea-bathing, moonlight, and solitude. 

"I think, if you had been listening to us, " Magsie went on, as hedid not answer, "you could not have objected to one word I said!And Rachael was lovely, Greg. She told me she would not contestit--"

"She told you THAT?"

"Well, she said several times that it must be as you decide. "Magsie dimpled demurely. "And I was--nice, too!" she assertedyouthfully. "I didn't tell her about this--and this!" and with onemovement of her pretty hand Magsie indicated the big emerald onher ring finger and the heavy bracelet of mesh gold about herwrist. Suddenly her face brightened, and with an eager movementshe leaned across the narrow table, and caught his hand in bothher own. "Ah, Greg, " she said tenderly, "does it seem true, thatafter all these months of talking, and hoping, you and I are goingto belong to each other?"

"But I have no idea that Rachael is seriously considering adivorce, " Warren said slowly. "Why should she? She has no cause!"

"She thinks she has!" Magsie said triumphantly. 

"She isn't the sort of woman to think things without reason, "Warren said. 

"She doesn't have to think, " Magsie assured him with the same airof satisfaction; "she knows! Everyone knows how much you and Ihave been together: everyone knows that you backed 'The Bad LittleLady'--"

"Everyone has no right to draw conclusions from that!" Warrensaid. 

Magsie shrugged her shoulders. 

"And what do we care, Greg? I don't care what the world thinks aslong as I have you! Let them have the letters, let them buzz--we'll be miles away, and we won't care! And in a year or two, Greg, we'll come back, and they'll all flock about us--you'll see!That's the advantage of a name like the Gregory name! Why, whoamong them all dropped Clarence on Paula's account, or Rachael onClarence's?"

"Your going to see her has certainly--complicated things, " Warrensaid reflectively. 

"On the contrary, " Magsie said confidently, "it has cleared thingsup. It had to come, Greg; every time you and I talked about it webrought the inevitable nearer! Why, you weren't ever at home. Could that have gone on forever? You had no home, no wife, nofreedom. I was simply getting sick of the whole thing! Now atleast we're all open and aboveboard; all we've got to do isquietly set the wheels in motion!"

"Well, I'll tell you what must be the first step, Magsie, " Warrensaid after thought; "I'm going home now to see Rachael. I'll talkthe whole thing over with her. Then I'll come to see you. "

"Positively?" asked Magsie. 

"Positively. "

"You won't just telephone that you're delayed, Greg, and leave meto wonder and worry?" the girl asked wistfully. "I'll wait untilany hour!" He looked at her kindly, with a gentleness of aspectnew in their relationship. 

"No, dear. It's nearly three now. I'll come take you to tea at, say, half-past four. I am operating again to-night, at nine, andSOME TIME I've got to get in a bath and some sleep. But there'llbe time for tea. "

Magsie chattered gayly, but Warren was almost silent as theygathered together their belongings, and went out to the street. Hecalled her another cab and beckoned to the man who was waitingwith his own car. 

"In a few months, perhaps, " said Magsie at parting, "when he's alltired and cross, I'll make him coffee AT HOME, and see that hegets his rest and quiet whenever he needs it!"

She did not like his answer. 

"Rachael's a wonder at that sort of thing, " he said. Magsie hadnot heard him speak so of his wife for months. "In fact, shespoils me, " he added. 

"Spoils you by leaving you alone in this hot town for six monthsout of every year?" Magsie laughed lightly. "Good-bye, dear! Athalf-past four?"

But even while he nodded Warren Gregory was resolving, in hissoul, that he must never see Magsie Clay again. His world wasstrange and alarming; was falling to pieces about him. He wasthirsting for Rachael: her voice, her reproaches, her forgiveness. In seven minutes he would be at home talking to his wife--

Dennison reported, with an impassive face, that Mrs. Gregory hadleft two hours ago with the children. He believed that they weregone to the Long Island house, sir. Warren, stupefied, went slowlyupstairs to have the news confirmed by Pauline. Mrs. Gregory hadtaken Mary and Millie, sir. And there was a note. 

Of course there was a note. To emotion like Rachael's emotionsilence was the only unthinkable thing. She had planned a dozennotes, written perhaps five. The one she left was brief:

MY DEAR WARREN: I am leaving with the children for Clark's Hills. You will know best what steps to take in the matter of the freedomyou desire. I will cooperate in any way. I have written Magsiethat I will not contest your divorce. If for any reason you cometo Clark's Hills, I will of course be obliged to see you. I askyou not to come. Please spare me another such talk as ours thismorning. I have plenty of money. 

Always faithfully, R. G. 

Warren read it, and stood in the middle of her bedroom with thesheet crushed in his hand. Pauline had put the empty room inorder--in terrible and desolate order. Usually there were flowersin the jars and glass bowls, a doll's chair by the bed, and awoolly animal seated in the chair; a dainty litter of lacescattered on Rachael's sewing-table. Usually she was there when hecame in tired, to look up beautiful and concerned: "Something toeat, dear, or are you going to lie down?"

Standing here with the note that ended it all in his hand, hewondered if he was the same man who had so often met that inquirywith an impatient: "Just please don't bother me, dear!" Who hadmet the succeeding question with, "I don't know whether I shalldine here or not!"

It was half-past three. In an hour he would see Magsie. 

In that hour Magsie had received Rachael's note, and her heartsang. For the first time, in what she would have described as this"funny, mixed-up business, " she began seriously to contemplate herelevation to the dignity of Warren Gregory's wife. Rachael's notewas capable of only one interpretation: she would no longer standin their way. She was taking the boys to the country, and hadgiven Warren the definite assurance of her agreement to hisdivorce. If necessary, on condition that her claim to the childrenwas granted, she would establish her residence in some Westerncity, and proceed with the legal steps from there. 

Magsie was frightened, excited, and thrilled all at once. She feltas if she had set some enormous machinery in motion, and was notquite sure of how it might be controlled. But on the whole, complacency underlay all other emotions. She was going to bemarried to the richest and nicest and most important man of heracquaintance!

At heart, however, her manner belied her; Magsie had little self-confidence. She lived in a French girl's terror that youth wouldleave her before she had time to make a good match. If nobody knewbetter than Magsie that she was pretty, also nobody knew betterthat she was not clever. Men tired of her dimples and giggles andround eyes. Bryan Masters admired her, to be sure, but then BryanMasters was also a divorced man, and an actor whose popularity wasalready on the wane. Richie Gardiner admired her in his pathetic, hopeless way, and Richie was young and rich. But Magsie shudderedaway from Richie's coughing and fainting; his tonics and his diethad no place in her robust and joyous scheme of life. Besides, allMagsie's world would envy her capture of Greg; he belonged to NewYork. And Richie's father had been a miner, and his mother was"impossible!"

Magsie dressed exquisitely for the tea; it seemed to her that shehad never been so pleasantly excited in her life. She felt a partof the humming, crowded city, the spring wind and the uncertainsky. Life was thrilling and surprising. 

Half-past four o'clock came, and Warren came. They were inMagsie's little apartment now, and she could go into his arms. Warren was rather quiet as they went out to tea, but Magsie didnot notice it. 

As a matter of fact, the man was bewildered; he was tired andworried about his work; but that was the least of it. He could notbelieve that the day's dazing and flying memories were real--theAlbany train, Rachael's room, the hospital, Magsie and theBiltmore breakfast-room, Rachael's room again, and now againMagsie. 

Were the lawsuits about which one read in the papers based on nomore than this? Apparently not. Magsie seemed perfectly confidentof the outcome; Rachael had not shown any doubt. One woman hadpractically presented him to the other; the law was to beconsulted. 

The law? How would those letters of Magsie's read if the law gothold of them? His memory flew from note to note. These hastilyscratched words would be flung to the wind of gossip, that windthat blew so merrily among the houses where he was known. He hadcalled Magsie his "wonder-child" and his "good little bad girl!"He had given her rings and sashes and a gold purse and a hat andwhite fox furs--any one gift he had made her was innocent enoughin itself! But taken with all the others--

Magsie was in high feather; some tiresome preliminaries, and theday was won! She had not planned so definite a campaign, but itwas all coming about in a fashion that more than fulfilled herplans. So, said Magsie to herself, stirring her tea, that was tobe her fate: Paris, America, the stage, and then a rich marriage?Well, so be it. She could not complain. 

"Greg, " she said a dozen times, "isn't it all like a dream?"

To Warren Gregory, as he walked down the street after leaving herat the theatre, it was indeed like a dream, a frightful dream. Hecould hardly credit his senses, hardly believe that all thesehorrible things were true, that Rachael knew all about Magsie, andthat Magsie was quietly thinking of divorce and marriage! Rachael, in such a rage, rushing away with the boys--why, he had made nosecret of his admiration for Magsie from Rachael, he had oftentalked to her enthusiastically of Magsie! And here she wasfuriously offering him his freedom. 

Well, what had he done after all? What a preposterous fuss aboutnothing. His thoughts were checked and chilled by the memory ofletters that Magsie had. Magsie could prove nothing by thoseletters--

But what a fool they would make him! Warren Gregory remembered thecase of a dignified college professor whose private correspondencehad recently been given to the press, and he felt a cool shudderrun down his spine. Rachael, reading those letters! It wasunthinkable! She and the world would think him a fool! It came tohim suddenly that she and the world would be right. He was a fool, and it was a fool's paradise in which he had been wandering: totake his wife and home and sons for granted, and to spend all hisleisure at the feet of a calculating little girl like Magsie!

"What did you expect her to do?" Magsie had asked. What would anysane man expect her to do? Smile with him at the new favorite'scharms, and take up her life in loneliness and neglect?

And now, Rachael was gone, and he stood promised to Magsie. Somuch was clear. Rachael would fight for her divorce. Magsie wouldfight for her husband. 

"Oh, my God, how did we ever get into this sickening, sickeningmess?" Warren said out loud in his misery. 

He had not dined, he did not think of dinner as he paced thewindy, cool city streets hour after hour. Nine struck, and hehailed a cab, and went to the hospital, moving through his worklike a man in a dream. The woman whose life he chanced to savethroughout all her days would say she had had a lovely doctor. Warren hardly saw her. He thought only of Magsie, Magsie who hadin her possession a number of compromising letters, every onesillier than the last--Magsie, who expected him to divorce hiswife and marry her. He was in such a state of terror that he couldnot think. Every instant brought more disquiet to his thoughts; hefelt as if, when he stepped out into the street again, thenewsboys might be calling his divorce, as if honor and safety andhappiness were gone forever. 

He did not see Magsie again that night, but walked and walked, entering his house sick and haggard, and sleeping the hoursrestlessly away. 

At nine o'clock the next morning he went to the telephone, andcalled the Valentine house. Doctor Valentine was not at home, hewas informed. Was Mrs. Valentine there? Would she speak to DoctorGregory?

A long pause. Then the maid's pleasant impersonal voice again. Mrs. Valentine begged Doctor Gregory to excuse her. 

Warren felt as if he had been struck in the face. Under the eyesof irreproachable and voiceless servants he moved about his silenthouse. The hush of death seemed to him to lie heavy in the lovelyrooms that had been Rachael's delight, and over the city that wasjust breaking into the green of spring. He dressed, and leftdirections with unusual sternness; he would be at the hospital, orthe club, if he was wanted. He would come home to dinner at seven. 

"Mrs. Gregory may be back in a day or so, Pauline, " he said. "Iwish you'd keep her rooms in order--flowers, and all that. "

"Yes, sir, " Pauline said respectfully. "Excuse me, Doctor--" sheadded. 

"Well?" said Warren as she paused. 

"Excuse me, Doctor, but I telephoned Mrs. Prince yesterday, asMrs. Gregory suggested, " Pauline went on timidly, "and she wouldbe glad to have me come at any time, sir. "

Warren's expression did not change. 

"You mean that Mrs. Gregory dismissed you?" he suggested. 

"Yes, sir!" said Pauline with a sniff. "She paid me for--"

"Then I should make an arrangement with Mrs. Prince, by allmeans!" Warren said evenly. But a deathlike terror convulsed hisheart. Rachael had burned her bridges!

He sent Magsie a note and flowers. He was "troubled by unexpecteddevelopments, " he said, and too busy to see her to-day, but hewould see her to-morrow. 

CHAPTER II

Magsie had awakened to a sense of pleasure impending. It was manymonths since she had felt so important and so sure of herself. Herself-esteem had received more than one blow of late. Bowman hadattempted to persuade her to take "The Bad Little Lady" on theroad; Magsie had indignantly declined. He had then offered her apoor part in a summer farce; about this Magsie had not yet made upher mind. 

Now, she said to herself, reading Warren's note over her latebreakfast tray, perhaps she might treat Mr. Bowman to the snubbingshe had long been anxious to give him. Perhaps she might spend thesummer quietly, inconspicuously, somewhere, placidly awaiting thehour when she would come out gloriously before the world as WarrenGregory's wife. Not at all a bad prospect for the daughter of oldMrs. Torrence's companion and housekeeper. 

A caller was announced and was admitted, a thin, restless womanwho looked thirty-five despite or perhaps because of the rouge onher sunken cheeks and the smart gown she wore. The years had nottreated Carol Pickering kindly: she was an embittered, dissatisfied woman now, noisily interested in the stage as apossible escape from matrimony for herself, and hence interestedin Magsie, with whom she had lately formed a sort of suspiciousand resentful intimacy. 

Joe Pickering had entirely justified in eight years the misgivingsfelt toward him by everyone who had Carol Breckenridge's interestsat heart. His wife had come to him rich, and a few hours aftertheir wedding her father's death had more than doubled the fortuneleft her by her grandmother. But it would be a sturdy legacyindeed that might hope to resist such inroads as the aimless andill-matched young couple made upon it from their first daytogether. 

Idly acquiring, idly losing, being cheated and robbed on allsides, they drifted through an unhappy and exciting year or two, finally investing much of their money in bonds, and a handsomeresidue in that favorite dream of such young wasters: the breedingof horses for the polo market. "What if we lose it all--which wewon't--we've still got the bonds!" Joe Pickering, leaden pocketsunder his eyes, his weak lips hanging loose, had said with hisunsteady laugh. What inevitably followed, and what he had notforeseen, was that he should lose more than half the bonds, too. They were seriously crippled now, and began to quarrel, to hateeach other for a greater part of the time; and their little son'shandsome dark eyes fell on some sad scenes. But now, in thechild's sixth year, they were still together, still appearing inpublic, and still, in that mysterious way known only to theirtype, rushing about on motor parties, buying champagne, andentertaining after a fashion in their cramped but pretentiousapartment. 

Of late Billy had been seriously considering the stage. She wasbut twenty-six, after all, and she still had a girl's thirst foradmiration and for excitement. She had called on Magsie, entertained the young actress, and the two had discovered acertain affinity. Magsie was delighted to see her now. Theygreeted each other affectionately, and Magsie, sending out hertray, settled herself comfortably in her pillows, and took theinterested Carol entirely into her confidence, with the singlereservation of Warren Gregory's name. 

"Handsome, and rich as Croesus, and his wife would divorce him, and belongs to one of the best families, " summarized Billy. "Why, I think you would be a fool to do anything else!"

"S'pose I would, " dimpled Magsie in interesting embarrassment. 

"Have a heart, and tell me who it is, " teased Carol, slipping herfoot from her low shoe to study a hole in the heel of her silkstocking. 

"Oh, I couldn't!" Magsie protested. 

"Well, I shall guess, if I can, " the other woman warned her. Andpresently she added: "I'll tell you what, if you do give it up, I'm going straight to Bowman, and ask for your place in your newshow! There's nothing about it that I couldn't do, and I believehe might give me a chance! I'll tell you what: you wait until thelast moment before you tell him, and then he can't be prepared inadvance. And I'll risk having Jacqueline make me a couple ofgowns, and be all ready to jump in. I'll learn the part, too, "said Billy kindling; "you'll coach me in it, won't you?"

"Of course I will!" Magsie agreed, but she did not say itheartily. The conversation was not extremely pleasing to Magsie atthe moment. She loved Warren, of course, but it was certainly agood deal to resign, even to marry a Gregory of New York! Why, here was Billy, who had been a rich man's daughter, and hadmarried the man of her choice, and had a nice child, mad to stepinto her shoes!

And it was a painful reflection that probably Billy could do it. Billy was smart, she had a dash and finish about her that mightwell catch a manager's eye, and more than that, it was a ratherpoor part. It was no such part as Magsie had had in "The BadLittle Lady. " There was a comedian in this cast, and a matineeidol for a leading man, and Magsie must content herself with apart and a salary much smaller than was given to either of these. 

She thought of Warren, and also fleetingly of Bryan Masters, andeven of Richie Gardiner, and decided that it was a bitter andempty world, and she wished she had never been born. Bowman wouldbe smart enough to see that he need pay Billy almost no salary, that she might be a discovery--the discovery for which allmanagers are always so pathetically on the alert, and that in casethe play failed--Magsie was sure, this morning, that it would bethe flattest failure ever seen on Broadway--he would have no irateleading lady to pacify; Billy would be only too grateful for theopportunity to try and fail. 

"Farce is the most difficult thing in the world to play, " shesaid, now clinging desperately to her little distinction. 

"Oh, I know that!" Billy answered absently. She would have a smartapartment on the Drive, and dear little old Breck should drivewith her in the Park, and go to the smartest boys' school in thecountry--

"And of course, I may not marry!" said Magsie. 

Carol hardly heard her. She was looking about the comfortablehotel apartment, all in a pretty disorder now, with Magsie'svarious possessions scattered about. There were pictures of actorson the mantel, heavily autographed, and flowers thrust carelesslyinto vases. There was a great sheaf of Killarney roses; theenvelope that had held a card still dangled from their stems. Carol would have given a great deal to know whose card had beentorn from it, and whose name was ringing just now in Magsie'sbrain. She even cared enough to tentatively interrogate Anna, Magsie's faithful Swedish woman. 

"Well, perhaps we shall have a change here, Anna?" Billy saidbrightly but cautiously, when she was in the hall. She wonderedwhether the woman would let her slip a bill into her hand. 

"Maybe, " said Anna impassively. 

"How shall you like keeping house for a man and wife?" Billypursued. 

"Aye do that bayfore, " remarked Anna, responsive to this kindlyinterest; "aye ban hahr savan yahre, now, en des country. "

"And do you like Miss Clay's young man?" Billy said boldly. But atthis shift of topic the light faded from Anna's infantile blueeyes, and a wary look replaced it. 

"She got more as one feller, " she remarked discouragingly. Billy, outfaced, departed, feeling rather contemptible as she walked downthe street. Joe was at home; she had left him in bed when she leftthe house at ten o'clock, and little Breck had been ratherlistlessly chatting with the colored boy in the elevator, and hadbegged his mother to take him downtown. Billy was really sorry forthe little boy, but she did not know what to do about it; shewondered what other women did with little lonely boys of six. Ifshe went home, it would not materially better the situation; thecook was cross to-day anyway, and would be crosser if Joe shoutedfor his breakfast in his usual ungracious manner. She could not goto Jacqueline and talk dresses unless she was willing to paysomething on the last bill. 

Billy thought of the bank, as she always did think of the bank, when her reflections reached this point. There were the bonds, notas many as they had been, but still fine, salable bonds. She couldpay the cook, pay the dressmaker, take Breck home a game, look athats, spend the day in exactly the manner that pleased her best. She had promised Joe that they would discuss the sale of the nextone together when they had sold the last bond, a month ago, andavoid it if possible. But what difference did one make?--a paltryfifty dollars a year! Perhaps it would be possible not to tellJoe--

Billy looked in her purse. She had a dollar bill and fifty cents, more than enough to take her to the bank in appropriate style. Shesignalled a taxicab. 

Magsie did not see Warren the next day, but they had tea and atalk on the day following. She told him gayly that he neededcheering, and presently took him into Tiffany's, where Warrenfound himself buying her a coveted emerald. Somehow during theafternoon he found himself talking and planning as if they reallyloved each other, and really were to be married. But it was anunsatisfactory hour. Magsie was excited and nervous, and wasrather relieved than otherwise that her interviews with heradmirer were necessarily short. As a matter of fact, theundisciplined little creature was overtired and unreasonable. Shewould have given her whole future for a quiet week in bed, withfrivolous novels to read, and Anna to spoil her, no captiousmanager to please, no exhausting performances to madden her with asense of her own and other people's imperfections, and no Warrento worry her with his long face. 

Added to Magsie's trials, in this dreadful week, was an interviewwith the imposing mother of young Richie Gardiner, a handsome, florid lady, who had inherited a large fortune from the minerhusband whose fortunes she had gallantly shared through someextraordinary adventures in Nome. Mrs. Gardiner idolized her son;she was not inclined to be generous to the little flippant actresswho had broken his heart. Richie would not go to the healingdesert, he would not go to any place out of sound of Miss Clay'svoice, out of the light of Miss Clay's eyes. Mrs. Gardiner had noobjection to Magsie's person, nor to her profession, the factbeing that her own origin had been even more humble than that ofMiss Clay, but she wanted the treasure of her boy's love to beappreciated; she had been envying, since the hour of his birth, the woman who should win Richie's love. 

Stout, overdressed, deep-voiced, she came to see the actress, andthey both cried; Magsie said that she was sorry--she was sobitterly sorry--but, yes, there was someone else. Mrs. Gardinershrugged philosophically, wiped her eyes, drew a deep breath. Nohelp for it! Presently she heavily departed; her solid weight, hertinkling spangles, and her rainbow plumes vanished into thelimousine, and she was whirled away. 

Magsie sighed; these complications were romantic. What could onedo?

CHAPTER III

Silent, abstracted, unsmiling, Rachael got through the days. Sheate what Mary put before her, slept fairly well, answered thepuzzled boys the second time they addressed her. She buckledsandals, read fairy tales, brushed the unruly heads, and listenedto the wavering prayers day after day. Her eyes were strained, herusually quick, definite motions curiously uncertain; otherwisethere was little change. 

Alice, in spite of her husband's half protest, went down toClark's Hills, deciding in the first hour that the worst of thematter was all over and Rachael quite herself, gradually becomingdoubtful, and returning home in despair. Her tearful account tookGeorge down to the country house a week later. 

Rachael met them; they dined with her. She was interested aboutthe Valentine children, interested in their summer plans. Shelaughed as she quoted Derry's latest ventures with words. Shewalked to her gate to wave them good-bye on Monday morning, andtold Alice that she was counting the days until the big familycame down. But George and Alice were heavy hearted as they droveaway. 

"What IS it?" asked Alice, anxious eyes upon her husband's kind, homely face. "She's like a person recovering from a blow. She'snot sick; but, George, she isn't well!"

"No, she's not well, " George agreed soberly. "Bad glitter in hereyes, and I don't like that calm for fiery Rachael! Well, you'llbe down here in a week or two--"

"Last week, " Alice said not for the first time, "she only spokeof--of the trouble, you know--once. We were just going out todinner, and she turned to me, and said: 'I didn't like my bargaineight years ago, Alice, and I tore my contract to pieces! Now I'llpay for it. '"

"And you said?"

"I said, 'Oh, nonsense, Rachael. Don't be morbid! There's noparallel between the cases!'"

"H'm!" The doctor was silent for a long time. "I don't know whatGreg's doing, " he added after thought. 

"The question is, what is Magsie doing?" said Alice. 

"In my opinion, Rachael's simply blown up, " George submitted. 

"Magsie told her they had talked of marriage!" Alice countered. George gave an incredulous snort. 

"Well, then, Magsie lied, " he said firmly. 

"She really isn't the lying type, George. And there's no questionthat Greg and she did see each other every day, and that he wroteher letters and gave her presents!" Alice finished rather timidly, for her husband's face was a thunder-cloud. The old car flew alongat thirty-five miles an hour. 

"Damn FOOL!" George presently muttered. Alice glanced at him insympathetic concern. 

"George, why don't you see him?"

George preserved a stern silence for perhaps two flying minutes, then he sighed. 

"Oh, he'll come to me fast enough when he needs me! Lord, I'vepulled old Greg out of trouble before. " His whole face grew tenderas he added: "You know Greg is a genius, Alice; he's not likeother men!"

"I should hope he wasn't!" said Alice with spirit. 

"We--ll!" She was sorry for her vehemence when George merely shookhis head and ended the conversation on the monosyllable. After awhile she attempted to reopen the subject. 

"If geniuses can act that way, I'd rather have our girls marrygrocers!"

The girls' father smiled absently. 

"Oh, well, of course!" he conceded. 

"Greg is no more a genius than you are, George, " argued Alice. 

"Oh, Alice, Alice!" he protested, really distressed, "don't everlet anyone hear you say that! Why, that only shows that you don'tknow what Greg is. Lord, the man seems to have an absoluteinstinct for bones; he'll take a chance when not one of the restwill! No, you mark my words, Alice, Greg has let Magsie Clay makea fool of him; he's been overtired and nervous--we've all seenthat--but he's as innocent of any actual harm in this thing as ourGogo!"

"Innocent!" sniffed Alice. "He'll break Rachael's heart with hisinnocence, and then he'll marry Magsie Clay--you'll see!"

"He'll come to me to get him out of it within the month--you'llsee!" George retorted. 

"He'll keep out of your way!" Alice predicted confidently. "I knowGreg. He has to be perfect or nothing. "

But it was only ten days later that Warren Gregory walked up thesteps of the Valentine house at about ten o'clock on a silent, hazy morning. George had not yet left the house for the day. Thedrawing-room furniture was swathed in linen covers, and acollection of golf irons, fishing rods, canoe paddles, and tennisrackets crowded the hallway. The young Valentines were departingfor the country to-morrow, and their excited voices echoed fromabove stairs. 

Warren had supposed them already gone. Rachael was alone, then, hereflected, alone in that desolate little country village! Henodded to the maid, and asked in a guarded tone for DoctorValentine. A moment later George Valentine came into the drawing-room, and the two men exchanged a look strange to their twentyyears of affectionate intercourse. Warren attempted mere colddignity; he was on the defensive, and he knew it. George's lookverged on contempt, thinly veiled by a polite interest in hisvisitor's errand. 

"George, " said Warren suddenly, when he had asked for Alice andthe children, and an awkward silence had made itself felt;"George, I'm in trouble. I--I wonder if you can help me out?"

He could hardly have made a more fortunate beginning; halting asthe words were, and miserable as was the look that accompaniedthem, both rang true to the older man, and went straight to hisheart. 

"I'm sorry to hear it, " George said. 

Warren folded his arms, and regarded his friend steadily acrossthem. 

"You know Rachael has left me, George?" he began. 

"I--well, yes, Alice went down there first, and then I went down, "George said. "We only came back ten days ago. " There was anotherbrief silence. 

"She--she hasn't any cause for this, you know, George, " Warrensaid, ending it, after watching the other man hopefully forfurther suggestion. 

"Hasn't, huh?" George asked thoughtfully, hopefully. 

"No, she hasn't!" Warren reiterated, gaining confidence. "I'vebeen a fool, I admit that, but Rachael has no cause to go off athalf-cock, this way!"

"What d'you mean by that?" George asked flatly. "What do you mean--you've been a fool?"

"I've been a fool about Magsie Clay, " Warren admitted, "andRachael learned about it, that's all. My Lord! there never was aninstant in my life when I took it seriously, I give you my word, George!"

"Well, if Rachael takes it seriously, and Magsie takes itseriously, you may find yourself beginning to take it seriously, too, " George said with a dull man's simple evasion of confusingelements. 

"Rachael may get her divorce, " Warren said desperately. "I can'thelp that, I suppose. I've got a letter from her here--she leftit. I don't know what she thinks! But I'll never marry MargaretClay--that much is settled. I'll leave town--my work's ended, Imight as well be dead. God knows I wish I were!"

"Just how far have you gone with Magsie?" George interruptedquietly. 

"Why, nothing at all!" Warren said. "Flowers, handbags, thingslike that! I've kissed her, but I swear Rachael never gave me anyreason to think she'd mind that. "

"How often have you seen her?" George asked in a somewhat relievedtone. "Have you seen her once a week?"

"Oh, yes! I say frankly that this was a--a flirtation, George. I've seen her pretty nearly every day---"

"But she hasn't got any letters--nothing like that?"

Warren's confident expression changed. 

"Well, yes, she has some letters. I--damn it! I am a fool, George!I swear I wrote them just as I might to anybody. I--I knew itmattered to her, you know, and that she looked for them. I don'tknow how they'd read!"

George was silent, scowling, and Warren said, "Damn it!" againnervously, before the other man said:

"What do you think she will do?"

"I don't know, George, " Warren said honestly. 

"Could you--buy her off?" George presently asked after thought. 

"Magsie? Never! She's not that type. She's one of ourselves as tothat, George. It was that that made me like Magsie--she's a lady, you know. She thinks she's in love; she wants to be married. Andif Rachael divorces me, what else can I do?"

"Rachael wants the divorce for the boys, " George said. "She toldAlice so. She said that except for that, nothing on earth wouldhave made her consider it. But she doesn't want you and MagsieClay to have any hold over her sons--and can you blame her? She'sbeen dragged through all this once. You might have thought ofthat!"

"Oh, my God!" Warren said, stopping by the mantel, and putting hisface in his hands. 

"Well, what did you think would happen?" George asked as Magsiehad asked. 

Then for perhaps two long minutes there was absolute silence, while Warren remained motionless, and George, in great distress, rubbed his upstanding hair. 

"George, what shall I do?" Warren burst out at length. 

"Why, now I'll tell you, " the older man said in a tone thatcarried exquisite balm to his listener. "Alice and I have talkedthis over, of course, and this seems to me to be the only way out:we know you, old man--that's what hurts. Alice and I know exactlywhat has got you into this thing. You're too easy, Warren. Youthink because you mean honorably by Magsie Clay, and amuseyourself by being generous to her, that Magsie means honorably byyou. You've got a high standard of morals, Greg, but where theydiffer from the common standards you fail. If the world is goingto put a certain construction upon your attentions to an actress, it doesn't matter what private construction you happen to put uponthem! Wake up, and realize what a fool you are to try to buck theconventions! What you need is to study other people's morals, notto be eternally justifying and analyzing your own. I don't knowhow you'll come out of this thing. Upon my word, it's the worstmess we ever got into since you misquoted Professor Diggs and hesued you. Remember that?"

"Oh, George--my God--how you stood by me then, " Warren said. "Getme out of this, and I'll believe that there never was a friendlike you in the world! I don't know what I ever did to have youand Alice stand by me--"

"Alice isn't standing by you to any conspicuous extent, " GeorgeValentine said smilingly, "although, last night, when she wasputting the girls to bed, she put her arms about Martha, and said, 'George, she wouldn't be here to-day if Greg hadn't taken thechance and cut that thing out of her throat!' At which, ofcourse, " Doctor Valentine added with his boyish smile, "Martha'sdad had to wipe his eyes, and Martha's mother began to cry!"

And again he frankly wiped his eyes. 

"However, the thing is this, " he presently resumed, "if you couldbuy off Magsie--simply tell her frankly that you've been a fool, that you don't want to go on with it--no, eh?" A littlediscouraged by Warren's dubious shake of the head, he went on tothe next suggestion. "Well, then, if you can't--tell her thatthere cannot be any talk at present of a legal separation, andthat you are going away. Would you have the nerve to do that? Tellher that you'll be back in eight months or a year. But of coursethe best thing would be to buy her off, or call it off in someway, and then write Rachael fully, frankly--tell her the wholething, ask her to wait at least one year, and then let you seeher--"

Warren could see himself writing this letter, could even seehimself walking into the dear old sitting-room at Home Dunes. 

"I might see Magsie, " he said after thought, "and ask her what shewould take in place of what she wants. It's just possible, but Idon't believe she would---"

"Well, what could she do if you simply called the whole thingoff?" George asked. "Hang it! it's a beastly thing to do, but ifshe wants money, you've got it, and you've done her no harm, though nobody'll believe that. "

"She'll take the heartbroken attitude, " Warren said slowly. "She'll say that she trusted me, that she can't believe me, and soon. "

"Well, you can stand that. Just set your jaw, and think ofRachael, and go through with it once and for all. "

"Yes, but then if she should turn to Rachael again?"

"Ah, well, she mustn't do that. Let her think that, after theyear, you'll come to a fresh understanding rather than let herfight. And meanwhile, if I were you, I would write Rachael a longletter and make a clean breast. Alice and the girls go down to-morrow; they'll keep me in touch. How about coming in here for abachelor dinner Friday? Then we can talk developments. "

"George, you certainly are a generous loyal friend!" WarrenGregory said, a dry huskiness in his voice as he wrung the other'shand in good-bye. 

George went upstairs to tell the interested and excited andencouraged Alice about their talk, and Alice laughed and criedwith-pleasure, confident that everything would come out well now, and grateful beyond words that Greg was showing so humbled andpenitent a spirit. 

"Leave Rachael to me!" Alice said exultingly. "How we'll all laughat this nonsense some day!"

Even Warren Gregory, walking down the street, was conscious of newhope and confidence. He was not thinking of Magsie to-day, but ofRachael, the most superb and splendid figure of womanhood that hadever come into his life. How she had raged at him in that lastmemorable talk; how vital, how vigorous she was, uncompromising, direct, courageous! And as a swimmer, who miles away from shore inthe cruel shifting green water, might think with aching longing ofthe quiet home garden, the kitchen with its glowing fire andgleaming pottery, the pleasant homely routine of uneventful days, and wonder that he had ever found safety and comfort anything lessthan a miracle, Warren thought of the wife he had sacrificed, thechildren and home that had been his, unchallenged and undisputed, only a few months before. He knew just where he had failed hiswife. He felt to-day that to comfort her again, to take her todinner again, violets on her breast, and to see her loosen herveil, and lay aside her gloves with those little gestures sofamiliar and so infinitely dear would be heaven, no less! Whatcomradeship they had had, they two, what theatre trips, whatsummer days in the car, what communion over the first baby's downyhead, what conferences over the new papers and cretonnes for HomeDunes!

Girded by these and a hundred other sacred memories he went toMagsie, who was busy, the maid told him, with her hairdresser. Butshe presently came out to him, wrapped snugly in a magnificentembroidered kimono, and with her masses of bright hair, almostdry, hanging about her lovely little face. She had never in alltheir intercourse shown him quite this touch of intimacy before, and he felt with a little wince of his heart that it was a sign ofher approaching possession. 

"Greg, dear, " said Magsie seating herself on the arm of his chair, and resting her soft little person against him, "I've beenthinking about you, and about the wonderful, WONDERFUL way thatall our troubles have come out! If anyone had told us, two monthsago, that Rachael would set you free, and that all this would havehappened, we wouldn't have believed it, would we? I watched youwalking down the street yesterday afternoon, and, oh, Greg, I hopeI'm going to be a good wife to you; I hope I'm going to make up toyou for all the misery you've had to bear!"

This was not the opening sentence Warren was expecting. Magsie hadbeen petulant the day before, and had pettishly declared that shewould not wait a year for any man in the world. Warren had at onceseized the opening to say that he would not hold her to anythingagainst her will, to be answered by a burst of tears, and anentreaty not to be "so mean. " Then Magsie had to be soothed, andthey had gone to tea as a part of that familiar process. But to-day her mood was different; she was full of youthful enthusiasmfor the future. 

"You know I love Rachael, Greg, and of course she is a mostexceptional woman, " bubbled Magsie happily, "but she doesn'tappreciate the fact that you're a genius--you're not a littleeveryday husband, to be held to her ideas of what's done and whatisn't done! Big men are a law unto themselves. If Rachael wants tohang over babies' cribs, and scare you to death every time Jimsneezes--"

Warren listened no further. His mind went astray on a memory ofthe night Jim was feverish, a memory of Rachael in her trailingdull-blue robe, with her thick braids hanging over her shoulders. He remembered that Jim was promised the circus if he would takehis medicine; and how Rachael, with smiling lips and anxious eyes, had described the big lions and the elephants for the littlerestless potentate---

"--because I've had enough of Bowman, and enough of this city, andall I ask is to run away with you, and never think of rehearsalsand routes and all the rest of it in my life again!" Magsie wassaying. Presently she seemed to notice his silence, for she askedabruptly: "Where's Rachael?"

Warren roused himself from deep thought. 

"At the Long Island house; at Clark's Hills. "

"Oh!" Magsie, who was now seated opposite him, clasped her handsgirlishly about her knees. "What is the plan, Greg?" she askedvivaciously. 

"Her plan?" Warren said clearing his throat. 

"Our plan!" Magsie amended contentedly. And she summarized thecase briskly: "Rachael consents to a divorce, we know that. I amnot going on with Bowman, I've decided that. Now what?" She eyedhis brooding face curiously. "What shall I do, Greg? I suppose weoughtn't to see each other as we did last summer? If Rachael goesWest--and I suppose she will--shall I go up to the Villalongas'?They're terribly nice to me; and I think Vera suspects---"

"What makes you think she does?" Warren asked, feeling as if ahot, dry wind suddenly smote his skin. 

"Because she's so nice to me!" Magsie answered triumphantly. "Rachael's been just a little snippy to Vera, " she confidedfurther, "or Vera thinks she has. She's not been up there forages! I could tell Vera---"

Warren's power of reasoning was dissipated in an absolute panic. But George had primed him for this talk. He assumed an air ofbusiness. 

"There are several things to think of, Magsie, " he said briskly, "before we can go farther. In the first place, you must spend thesummer comfortably. I've arranged for that--"

He handed her a small yellow bank-book. Magsie glanced at it;glanced at him. 

"Oh, Greg, dear, you're too generous!"

"I'm not generous at all, " he answered with an honest flush. "Iknow what I am now, Magsie, I'm a cad. "

"Who says you're a cad?" Magsie demanded indignantly. 

"I say so!" he answered. "Any man is a cad who gets two women intoa mess like this!"

"Greg, dear, you shan't say so!" Her slender arms were about hisneck. 

"Well--" He disengaged the arms, and went on with his planning. "George Valentine is going to see Rachael, " he proceeded. 

"About the divorce?" said Magsie with a nod. 

"About the whole thing. And George thinks I had better go away. "

"Where?" demanded Magsie. 

"Oh, travelling somewhere. "

"Rio?" dimpled Magsie. "You know you have always had a sneakingdesire to see Rio. "

Warren smiled mechanically. It had been Rachael's favorite dream"when the boys are big enough!" His sons--were they bathing thisminute, or eagerly emptying their blue porridge bowls?

"Magsie, dear, " he said slowly, "it's a miserable business--this. I'm as sorry as I can be about it. But the truth is that Georgewants me to get away only until he and Alice can get Rachael intoa mood where she'll forgive me. They see this whole crazy thing asit really is, dear. I'm not a young man, Magsie, I'm nearly fifty. I have no business to think of anything but my own wife and mywork and my children--Don't look so, Magsie, " he broke off to say;"I only blame myself! I have loved you--I do love you--but it'sonly a man's love for a sweet little amusing friend. Can't we--can't we stop it right here? You do what you please; draw on mefor twice that, for ten times that; have a long, restful summer, and then come back in the fall as if this was all a dream---"

Magsie had been watching him steadily during this speech, a longspeech for him. At first she had been obviously puzzled, thenastonished, now she was angry. She had grown pale, her prettychildish mouth was a little open, her breath coming fast. For afull minute, as his voice halted, there was silence. 

"Then--then you didn't mean all you said?" Magsie demandedstormily, after the pause. "You didn't mean that you--cared? Youdidn't mean the letters, and the presents, and the talks we'vehad? You knew I was in earnest, but you were just fooling!" Sheerexcitement and fury kept her panting for a moment, then she wenton: "But I think I know who's done this, Greg!" she saidviciously; "it's Mrs. Valentine. She and her husband have beentalking to you; they've done it. She's persuaded you that younever were in earnest with me!" Magsie ran across the room, flungopen the little desk that stood there, and tore the rubber bandfrom a package of letters. "You take her one of these!" she said, half sobbing. "Ask her if that means anything! Greg, dear!" sheinterrupted herself to say in a child's reproachful tone, "didn'tyou mean it?" And with her soft hair floating, and her figureyouthful under the simple lines of her Oriental robe, she came tostand close beside him, her mood suddenly changed. "Don't you loveme any more, Greg?" said she. 

"Love you!" he countered with a rueful laugh, "that's thetrouble. "

She linked her soft little hands in his, raised reproachful eyes. 

"But you don't love me enough to stand by me, now that Rachael isso cross?" she asked artlessly. "Oh, Greg, I will wait years andyears for you!"

Warren's expression was of wretchedness; he managed a smile. 

"It's only that I hate to let you in for it all, dear. And let herin for it. I feel as if we hadn't thought it out--quite enough, "he said. 

"What does it let Rachael in for?" she asked quickly. "Here's herletter, Greg--I'll read it to you! Rachael doesn't mind. "

"Well--it will be horrible for you, " he submitted in a troubledtone. "Horrible for us both. "

"You mean your work can't spare you?" she asked with a shrewdlook. 

"No!" He shrugged wearily. "No. The truth is, I want to get away, "he said in an undertone. 

"Ah, well!" Magsie understood that. "Of course you want to getaway from the fuss and the talk, Greg, " she said eagerly. "I thinkwe all ought to get away: Rachael to Long Island, I to Vera, youanywhere! We can't possibly be married for months---" Suddenly hervoice sank, she dropped his hands, and locked her smooth littlearms about his neck. "But I'll be waiting for you, and you for me, Greg, " she whispered. "Isn't it all settled now, isn't it only aquestion of all the bother, lawyers and arrangements, before youand I belong to each other as we've always dreamed we might?"

He looked down gravely, almost sadly, and yet with tenderness, upon the eager face. He had always found her lovable, endearing, and sweet; even out of this hideous smoke and flame she emergedall charming and all desirable. He tightened his arms about thethinly wrapped little figure. 

"Yes. I think it's all settled now, Magsie!" he said. 

"Well, then!" She sealed it with one of her quick little kisses. "Now sit down and read a magazine, Greg, " she said happily, "andin ten minutes you'll see me in my new hat, all ready to go tolunch!"

CHAPTER IV

The blue tides rose and fell at Clark's Hills, the summer sunshone healingly down upon Rachael's sick heart and soul. Day afterday she took her bare-headed, sandalled boys to the white beach, and lay in the warm sands, with the tonic Atlantic breezes blowingover her. Space and warmth and silence were all about; theincoming breakers moved steadily in, and shrank back in a tumbleof foam and blue water; gulls dipped and wheeled in the spray. Asfar as her dreaming eyes could reach, up the beach and down, therewas the same bath of warm color, blue sea melting into blue sky, white sand mingling with yellow dunes, until all colors, in thedistance, swam in a haze of dull gold. 

Now and then, when even the shore was hot, the boys elected tospend their afternoon by the bay on the other side of the village. Here there was much small traffic in dingies and dories andlobster-pots; the slower tides rocked the little craft at themoorings, and sent bright swinging light against the weather-wornplanks under the pier. Rachael smiled when she saw Derry's littledark head confidently resting against the flowing, milky beard ofold Cap'n Jessup, or heard the bronzed lean younger men shout toher older son, as to an equal, "Pitch us that painter, will ye, Jim!"

She spoke infrequently but quietly of Warren to Alice. The olderwoman discovered, with a pang of dismay, that Rachael's attitudewas fixed beyond appeal. There was such a thing as divorce, established and approved; she, Rachael, had availed herself of itsadvantages; now it was Warren's turn. 

Rachael would live for her sons. They must of course be her own. She would take them away to some other atmosphere: "England, Ithink, " she told Alice. "That's my mother country, you know, andchildren lead a sane, balanced life there. "

"I will be everything to them until they are--say, ten andtwelve, " she added on another day, "and then they will begin toturn toward their father. Of course I can't blame him to them, Alice. And some day they will come to believe that it is all theirmother's fault--that's the way with children! And so I'll payagain. "

"Dearest girl, you're morbid!" Alice said, not knowing whether tolaugh or cry. 

"No, I mean it, I truly mean that! It is disillusioning for youngboys to learn that their father and mother were not self-controlled, normal persons, able to bear the little pricks oflife, but that our history has been public gossip for years, thattwo separate divorces are in their immediate history!"

"Rachael, don't talk so recklessly!"

Rachael smiled sadly. 

"Well, perhaps I can be a good mother to them, even if they don'tidealize me!" she mused. 

"I have come to this conclusion, " she told

Alice one day, about a fortnight later, "while civilization is asit is, divorce is wrong. No matter what the circumstances are, nomatter where the right and wrong lie, divorce is wrong. "

"I suppose there are cases of drink or infidelity--" Alicesubmitted mildly. 

"Then it's the drink, or the infidelity that should be changed!"Rachael answered inflexibly. "It's the one vow we take with God aswitness; and no blessing ever follows a broken vow!"

"I think myself that there are not many marriages that couldn't besuccesses!" Alice said thoughtfully. 

"Separation, if you like!" Rachael conceded with something of herold bright energy. "Change and absence, for weeks and months, butnot divorce. Paula Verlaine should never have divorced Clarence;she made a worse match, if that was possible, and involved threeother small lives in the general discomfort. And I never shouldhave married Clarence, because I didn't love him. I didn't wantchildren then; I never felt that the arrangement was permanent;but having married him, I should have stayed by him. I know themood in which Clarence took his own life; he never loved me as hedid Bill, but he wouldn't have done it if I had been there!"

"I cannot consider Clarence Breckenridge a loss to society, " Alicesaid. 

"I might have made Clarence a man who would have been a loss tosociety, " Rachael mused. "He was proud; loved to be praised. Andhe loved children; one or two babies in the nursery would have putBilly in second place. But he bored me, and I simply wouldn't goon being bored. So that if I had had a little more courage, or alittle more prudence in the first place, Billy, Clarence, perhapsCharlotte and Charlie, Greg, Deny, Jim, Joe Pickering, and Billymight all have been happier, to say nothing of the general exampleto society. "

"I hear that Billy is unhappy enough now, " Alice said, pleased atRachael's unusual vivacity. "Isabella Haviland told my Mary thatCousin Billy was talking about divorce. "

"From Joe?--is that so?" Rachael looked up interestedly. "I hadn'theard it, and somehow I don't believe it! They have a curiousaffinity through all their adventures. Poor little Bill, it hasn'tbeen much of a life!"

"They say she is going on the stage, " Alice pursued, "which seemsa pity, especially for the child's sake. He's an attractive boy;we saw him with her at Atlantic City last winter--one of thosewonderfully dressed, patient, pathetic children, always with thegrown-ups! The little chap must have a rather queer life of itdrifting about from hotel to hotel. They're hard up, and I believemost of the shops and hotels have actually black-listed them. Hewould seem to be the sort of man who cannot hold on to anything, and, of course, there's the drinking! She's not the girl to savehim. She drinks rather recklessly herself; it's a part of herpose. "

"I wonder if she would let the youngster come down here andscramble about with my boys?" Rachael said unexpectedly. She hadnot seriously thought of it; the suggestion came idly. Butinstantly it took definite hold. "I wonder if she would?" sheadded with more animation than she had shown for some time. "Iwould love to have him, and of course the boys would go wild withjoy! I would be so glad to do poor old Billy a good turn. She andI were always friends, and had some queer times together. And morethan that"--Rachael's eyes darkened--"I believe that if I had hadthe right influence over her she never would have married Joe. Iregarded the whole thing too lightly; I could have tried, in adifferent way, to prevent it, at least. I am certainly going towrite her, and ask for little Breckenridge. It would be somethingto do for Clarence, too, " Rachael added in a low tone, and as ifhalf to herself, "and for many long years I have felt that I wouldbe glad to do something for him! To have his grandson here--doesn't it seem odd?-and perhaps to lend Billy a hand; it seemsalmost like an answer to prayer! He can sleep on the porch, between the boys, and if he has some old clothes, and a bathingsuit--"

"MY DEAR BILLY, " she wrote that night, "I have heard one or twohints of late that you have a good many things in your life justnow that make for worry, and am writing to know if my boys and Imay borrow your small son for a few weeks or a month, so that onesmall complication of a summer in the city will be spared you. Weare down here on Long Island on a strip of high land that runsbetween the beautiful bay and the very ocean, and when Jim andDerry are not in the one they are apt to be in the other. It willbe a great joy to them to have a guest, and a delight to me totake good care of your boy. I think he will enjoy it, and it willcertainly do him good. 

"I often think of you with great affection, and hope that life istreating you kindly. Sometimes I fancy that my old influence mighthave been better for you than it was, but life is mistakes, afterall, and paying for them, and doing better next time. 

"Always affectionately yours, RACHAEL. "

Three days elapsed after this letter was dispatched, and Rachaelhad time to wonder with a little chill if she had been too cordialto Billy, and if Billy were laughing her cool little laugh at herone-time step-mother's hospitality and moralizing. 

But as a matter of fact, the invitation could not have been morehappily timed for young Mrs. Pickering. Billy, without any furthernotice to Magsie, had been to see Magsie's manager, coollybetraying her friend's marriage plans, pledging the angry andbewildered Bowman to secrecy, and applying for the position on herown account in the course of one brief visit. 

Bowman would not commit himself to engaging Billy, but he wasinfinitely obliged to her for the news of Magsie, and told her sofrankly. 

It was when she returned home from this call, and hot and weary, was trying to break an absolute promise to the boy, involving theZoo and ice-cream, that Rachael's letter arrived. 

Billy read it through, sat thinking hard, and presently read itagain. The softest expression her rather hard young face ever knewcame over it as she sat there. This was terribly decent ofRachael, thought Billy. She must be the busiest and happiest womanin the world, and yet her heart had gone out to little Breck. Thelast line, however, meant more than all the rest, just now, toBilly Pickering. She was impressionable, and not given to findingout the truths of life for herself. Rachael's opinions she hadalways respected. And now Rachael admitted that life was allmistakes, and added that heartening line about paying for them, and doing better. 

"'Cause I am so hot--and I never had any lunch--and you said youwould!" fretted the little boy, flinging himself against her, andsending a wave of heat through her clothing as he did so. 

"Listen, Breck, " she said suddenly, catching him lightly in herarm, and smiling down at him, "would you like to go down and staywith the Gregory boys?"

"I don't know 'em, " said Breck doubtfully. 

"Down on the ocean shore, " Billy went on, "where you could go inbathing every day, and roll in the surf, and picnic, and sleep outof doors!"

"Did they ask me?" he demanded excitedly. 

"Their mother did, and she says that you can stay as long asyou're a good boy, down there where it's nice and cool, digging inthe sand, and going bare foot--"

"I'll be the best boy you ever saw!" Breck sputtered eagerly. "I'll work for her, and I'll make the other kids work for her--she'll tell you she never saw such a good boy! And I'll write youletters--"

"You won't have to work, old man!" Billy felt strangely stirred asshe kissed him. She watched him as he rushed away to break thenews of his departure to the stolid Swedish girl in the kitchenand the colored boy at the elevator. He jerked his little bureauopen, and began to scramble among his clothes; he selected a toyfor Jim and a toy for Derry, and his mother noticed that they werehis dearest toys. She took him downtown and bought him a bathingsuit, and sandals, and new pajamas, and his breathless delight, ashe assured sympathetic clerks that he was going down to the shore, made her realize what a lonely, uncomfortable little fellow he hadbeen all these months. He could hardly eat his supper that night, and had to be punished before he would even attempt to go tosleep, and the next morning he waked his mother at six, and fairlydanced with impatience and anxiety as the last preparations weremade. 

Billy took him down to Clark's Hills herself. She had not notifiedRachael, or answered her in any way, never questioning thatRachael would know her invitation to be accepted. But from the bigterminal station she did send a wire, and Rachael and the boys mether after the hot trip. 

"Billy, it was good of you to come, " Rachael said, kissing herquite naturally as they met. 

"I never thought of doing anything else, " Billy said, breathingthe fresh salt air with obvious pleasure. "I had no idea that itwas such a trip. But he was an angel--look at them now, aren'tthey cute together?"

Rachael's boys had taken eager possession of their guest; thethree were fast making friends as they trotted along togethertoward the old motor car that Rachael ran herself. 

"It's a joy to them, " their mother said. "Get in here next to me, Bill; I'm not going even to look at you until I get you home. Didyou ever see the water look so delicious? We'll all go down for adip pretty soon. I live so simply here that I'm entirely out ofthe way of entertaining a guest, but now that you're here, youmust stay and have a little rest yourself!"

"Oh, thank you, but--" Billy began in perfunctory regret. Her tonechanged: "I should love to!" she said honestly. 

Rachael laughed. "So funny to hear your old voice, Bill, and yourold expressions. "

"I was just thinking that you've not changed much, Rachael. "

"I? Oh, but I've gray hair! Getting old fast, Billum. "

"And how's Greg?" Billy did not understand the sudden shadow thatfell across Rachael's face, but she saw it, and wondered. 

"Very well, my dear. "

"Does he get down here often? It's a hard trip. "

"He always comes in his car. They make it in--I don't know--something like two hours and ten minutes, I think. This is myhouse, with all its hydrangeas in full bloom. Yes, isn't it nice?And here's Mary for Breckenridge's bag. "

Rachael had got out of the car, and now she gave Billy's boy herhand, and stood ready to help him down. 

"Well, Breck, " said she, "do you think you are going to like myhouse, and my little boys? Will you give Aunt Rachael a kiss?"

Billy said nothing as the child embraced his new-found relativeheartily, nor when Rachael took her upstairs to show her the thirdhammock between the other two, and herself invested the visitor inblue overalls and a wide hat. But late that evening, after asilence, she said suddenly:

"You're more charming than ever, Rachael; you're one of thesweetest women I ever saw!"

"Thank you!" Rachael said with a little note of real pleasureunder her laugh. 

"You've grown so gentle, and good, " said Billy a little awkwardly. "Perhaps it's just because you're so sweet to Breck, and becauseyou have such a nice way with children, but I--I am ever and everso grateful to you! I've often thought of you, all this time, andof the old days, and been glad that so much happiness of everysort has come to you. At first I felt dreadfully--at that time, you know--"

She stopped and faltered, but Rachael looked at her kindly. Theywere sitting on the wide porch, under the velvet-black arch of thestarry sky, and watching the occasional twinkle of lights on thedark surface of the bay. 

"You may say anything you like to me, Billy, " Rachael said. 

"Well, it was only--you know how I loved him--" Billy saidquickly. "I've so often thought that perhaps you were the onlyperson who knew what it all meant to me. I only thought he wouldbe angry for a while. I thought then that Joe would surely winhim. And afterward, I thought I would go crazy, thinking of himsitting there in the club. I had failed him, you know! I've nevertalked about it. I guess I'm all tired out from the trip down. "

It was clumsily expressed; the words came as if every one werewrung from the jealous silence of the long years, but presentlyBilly was beside Rachael's chair, kneeling on the floor, and theirarms were about each other. 

"I killed him!" sobbed Billy. "He spoke of me the last of all. Hesaid to Berry Stokes that he--he loved me. And he had a little oldpicture of me--you remember the one in the daisy frame?--over hisheart. Oh, Daddy, Daddy!--always so good to me!"

"No, Bill, you mustn't say that you killed him, " Rachael said, turning pale. "If you were to blame, I was, too, and yourgrandmother, and all of us who made him what he was. I didn't lovehim when I married him, and he was the sort of man who has to beloved; he knew he wasn't big, and admirable, and strong, but manya man like Clancy has been made so, been made worth while, byhaving a woman believe in him. I never believed in him for onesecond, and he knew it. I despised him, and where he sputtered andstammered and raged, I was cool and quiet, and smiling at him. Itisn't right for human beings to feel that way, I see it now. I seenow that love--love is the lubricant everywhere in the world, Bill. One needn't be a fool and be stepped upon; one has rights;but if loving enough goes into everything, why, it's bound to comeout right. "

"Oh, I do believe it!" said Billy fervently, kneeling on the floorat Rachael's feet, her wet, earnest eyes on Rachael's face, herarms crossed on the older woman's knees. 

"I believe, " Rachael said, "that in those seven years I might havewon your father to something better if I had cared. He wasn't ahard man, just desperately weak. I've thought of it so often, oflate, Bill. There might have been children. Clancy had a funnylittle pathetic fondness for babies. And he was a loving sort ofperson---"

"Ah, wasn't he?" Billy's eyes brimmed again. "Always that to me. But not to you, Rachael, and little cat that I was--I knew it. Butyou see I had no particular reverence for marriage, either. Howshould I? Why, my own mother and my half-sisters--hideous girls, they are, too--were pointed out to me in Rome a year ago. I didn'tknow them! I could have made your life much easier, Rachael. Iwish I had. I was thinking that this afternoon when Breck wasletting you carry him out into deep water, clinging to you socunningly. He is a cute little kid, isn't he? And he'll love youto death! He's a great kisser. "

"He's a great darling, " smiled Rachael, "and all small boys Iadore. He'll begin to put on weight in no time. And--I wasthinking, Bill--he would have reconciled Clancy to you and Joe, perhaps; one can't tell! If I had not left him, Clarence mighthave been living to-day, that I know. He only--did what he did inone of those desperate lonely times he used to dread so. "

"Ah, but he was terrible to you, Rachael!" Billy said generously. "You deserved happiness if anyone ever did!" Again she did notunderstand Rachael's sharp sigh, nor the little silence thatfollowed it. Their talk ran on quite naturally to other topics:they discussed all the men and women of that old world they bothhad known, the changes, the newcomers, and the empty places. Mrs. Barker Emory had been much taken up by Mary Moulton, and was arecognized leader at Belvedere Bay now; Straker Thomas was in asanitarium; old Lady Torrence was dead; Marian Cowles had snatchedGeorge Pomeroy away from one of the Vanderwall girls at the lastsecond; Thomas Prince was paralyzed; Agnes Chase had married aDenver man whom nobody knew; the Parker Hoyts had a delicatelittle baby at last; Vivian Sartoris had left her husband, nobodyknew why. Billy was quite her old self as she retailed these itemsand many more for Rachael's benefit. 

But Rachael saw that the years had made a sad change in her beforethe three days' visit was over. Poor little, impudent, audaciousBilly was gone forever--Billy, who had always been so exquisite indress, so prettily conspicuous on the floor of the ballroom, sosuperbly self-conscious in her yachting gear, her riding-clothes, her smart little tennis costumes! She was but a shadow of her oldself now. The smart hats, the silk stockings, the severely trimfrocks were still hers, but the old delicious youth, her roses, her limpid gaze, the velvety curve of throat and cheek, these weregone. Billy had been spirited, now she was noisy. She had beenamusingly precocious, now she was assuming an innocence, anaivete, that were no longer hers, had never been natural to herat any time. She had always been coolly indifferent to the livesof other men and women. Now she was embittered as to her owndestiny, and full of ugly and eager gossip concerning everyone sheknew. She chanced upon the name of Magsie Clay, little dreaminghow straight the blow went to Rachael's heart, but had excellentreasons of her own for not expressing the belief that Magsie wouldsoon leave the stage, and so gave no hint of Magsie's rich andmysterious lover. She did tell Rachael that she herself meant togo on the stage, but imparted no details as to her hopes for doingso. 

"Just how much money is left, Billy?" Rachael presently feltherself justified in asking. 

"Oh, well"--Billy had always hated statistics--"we sold theBelvedere Bay place last year, you know, but it was a perfectwreck, and the Moultons said they had to put seventeen thousanddollars into repairs, but I don't believe it, and that money, andsome other things, were put into the bank. Joe was just making ascene about it--we have to draw now and then--we sank I don't knowwhat into those awful ponies, and we still have that place--it's alovely house, but it doesn't rent. It's too far away. The kidadores it of course, but it's too far away, it gives me thecreeps. It's just going to wreck, too. Joe says sometimes thathe's going to raise chickens there. I see him!" Billy scowled, butas Rachael did not speak, she presently came back to the topic. "But just how much of my money is left, I don't know. There aretwo houses in East One Hundredth--way over by the river. Daddytook them for some sort of debt. "

Rachael remembered them perfectly. But she could not revert to thedays when she was Clarence's wife without a pang, and so let theallusion go. 

"Why he took them I don't know, " Billy resumed, "ten flats, andall empty. They say it would cost us ten thousand dollars to getthem into shape. They're mortgaged, anyway. "

"But Billy, wouldn't that bring you in a fair income, in itself, if it was once filled?"

"My dear, perhaps it would. But do you think you could get JoePickering to do it? As long as the money in the bank lasts--Iforget what it is, several thousand, more than twenty, I think--we'll go along as we are. Joe has a half-interest in a patent, anyway, some sort of curtain-pole; it's always going to make us afortune!"

"But, Billy, if you and the boy took a little place somewhere, andyou had one good maid--up there on the pony farm, for instance--surely it would be saner, surely it would be wiser, than trying tothink of the stage now with him on your hands!"

"Except that I would simply die!" Billy said. "I love the city, and the excitement of not knowing what will turn up. And if Joewould behave himself, and if I should make a hit, why, we'll beall right. "

A queer, hectic, unsatisfying life it must be, Rachael thought, saying good-bye to her guest a day or two later. Dressing, rouging, lacing, pinning on her outrageously expensive hats, jerking on her extravagant white gloves, drinking, rushing, screaming with laughter, screaming with anger, Billy was one ofthat large class of women that the big city breeds, and thatcannot live elsewhere than in the big city. She would ride in athousand taxicabs, worrying as she watched the metre; she woulddrink a thousand glasses of champagne, wondering anxiously if Joewere to pay for it; she would gossip of a dozen successfulactresses without the self-control to work for one-tenth of theirsuccess, and she would move through all the life of the theatresand hotels without ever having her place among them, and her shareof their little glory. And almost as reckless in action as she wasin speech, she would cling to the brink of the conventions, neverquite a good woman, never quite anything else, a fond and loyal ifa foolish and selfish mother, some day noisily informing heradmirers that she actually had a boy in college, and enjoyingtheir flattering disbelief. And so would disappear the last of thehandsome fortune that poor Clarence's father had bequeathed tohim, and Clarence's grandson must fight his way with no betterstart than his grandfather had had financially, and with aninfinitely less useful brain and less reliable pair of hands. Billy might be widowed or freed in some less unexceptionable way, and then Billy would marry again, and it would be a queermarriage; Rachael could read her fate in her character. 

She wondered, walking slowly the short mile that lay between herhouse and the station, when Billy was gone, just how a discerningeye might read her own fate in her own character. Just what didthe confused mixture of good motives and bad motives, erraticunselfishnesses and even more erratic weaknesses that was Rachael, deserve of Fate? She had bought some knowledge, but it had beendearly bought; she had bought some goodness, but at what a cost ofpain!

"I don't believe that Warren ever did one-tenth the silly thingswe suspected him of!" Alice exclaimed one day. "I believe he wasjust an utter fool, and Magsie took advantage of it!"

Rachael did not answer, but there was no brightening of her sombrelook. Her eyes, grave and sad, held for Alice no hope that she hadcome, as George and Alice had come, to a softer view of Warren'soffence. 

"I see him always as he was that last horrible morning, " she saidto Alice. "And I pray that I will never look upon his face again!"And when presently Alice hinted that George was receiving anoccasional letter from Warren, Rachael turned pale. 

"Don't quote it to me, Alice, " she said gently; "don't ask me tohear it. It's all over. I haven't a heart any more, just a voidand a pain. You only hurt me--I can't ever be different. You andGeorge love me, I know that. Don't drive me away. Don't ever feelthat it will be different from what it is now. I--I wish him noill, God knows, but--I can't. It wouldn't be happiness for me orfor him. Please, PLEASE--!"

Alice, in tears, could only give her her way. 

CHAPTER V

Upon the discontented musings of Miss Margaret Clay one hotSeptember morning came Mrs. Joseph Pickering, very charming incoffee-colored madras, with an exquisite heron cockade upon hernarrow tan hat. Magsie was up, but not dressed, and was not illpleased to have company. Her private as well as professionalaffairs were causing her much dissatisfaction of late, and she wasat the moment in the act of addressing a letter to Warren, now onthe ocean, from whom she had only this morning had an extremelydisquieting letter. 

Warren had come to see her the day before sailing, and with agrave determination new to their intercourse, had repeated severalunpalatable truths. Rachael, on second thoughts, he told her, hadabsolutely refused him a divorce. 

"But she can't do that! She wrote me herself--" Magsie had begunin anger. His distressed voice interrupted her. 

"She's acting for the boys, Magsie. And she's right. "

"Right!" The little actress turned pale as the full significanceof his words and tone dawned upon her. "But--but what do you mean!What about ME?"

To this Warren had only answered with an exquisitely uncomfortablelook and the simple phrase, "Magsie, I'm sorry. "

"You mean that you're not going to MAKE her keep her word?"

And again she had put an imperative little hand upon his arm, sureof her power to win him ultimately. Days afterward the angry bloodcame into her face when she remembered his kind, his almostfatherly, smile, as he dislodged the hand. 

"Magsie, I'm sorry. You can't despise me as I despise myself, dear. I'm ashamed. Some day, perhaps, there'll be something I cando for you, and then you'll see by the way I do it that I wantwith all my heart to make it up to you. But I'm going away now, Magsie, and we mustn't see each other any more. "

Magsie, repulsed, had flung herself the length of the little room. 

"You DARE tell me that, Greg?"

"I'm sorry, Magsie!"

"Sorry!" Her tone was vitriol. "Why, but I've got your letters. I've got your own words! Everyone knows-the whole world knows! Canyou deny that you gave me this?--and this? Can you deny--"

"No, I'm not denying anything, Magsie. Except--that I never meantto hurt you. And I hope there was some happiness in it for you asthere was for me. "

Magsie had dropped into a chair with her back to him. 

"I've made you cross, " she said penitently, "and you're punishingme! Was it my seeing Richie, Greg? You know I never cared---"

"Don't take that tone, " he said. 

Her color flamed again, and she set her little teeth. He saw herbreast rise and fall. 

"Don't think you can do this, Greg, " she said with icyviciousness. "Don't delude yourself! I can punish you, and I will. Alice and George Valentine can fix it all up to suit themselves, but they don't know me! You've said your say now, and I'velistened. Very well!"

"Magsie, " he said almost pleadingly, interrupting the hard littlevoice, "can't you see what a mistake it's all been?"

She looked at him with eyes suddenly flooded with tears. 

"M-m-mistake to s-s-say we loved each other, Greg?"

The man did not answer. Presently Magsie began to speak in a sad, low tone. 

"You can go now if you want to, Greg. I'm not going to try to holdyou. But I know you'll come back to me to-morrow, and tell me itwas all just the trouble other people tried to make between us--itwasn't really you, the man I love!"

"I'll write you, " he said after a silence. And from the doorway headded, "Good-bye. " Magsie did not turn or speak; she could notbelieve her ears when she heard the door softly close. 

Next day brought her only a letter from the steamer, a letterreiterating his good-byes, and asking her again to forgive him. Magsie read it in stupefaction. He was gone, and she had lost him!

The first panic of surprise gave way to more reasonable thinking. There were ways of bringing him back; there were arguments thatmight persuade Rachael to adhere to her original resolution. Itcould not be dropped so easily. Magsie began to wonder what alawyer might advise. Billy came in upon her irresolute musing. 

"Hello, dearie! But I'm interrupting---" said Billy. 

"Oh, hello, darling! No, indeed you're not, " Magsie said, tearingup an envelope lazily. "I was trying to write a letter, but I haveto think it over before it goes. "

"I should think you could write a letter to your beau with youreyes shut, " Billy said. "You've had practice enough! I know you'rebusy, but I won't interrupt you long. Upon my word, I had a hardenough time getting to you. There was no boy at the lift, and onlya dear old Irish girl mopping up the floors. We had a long heart-to-heart talk, and I gave her a dollar. "

"A dollar! I'll have to move-you're raising the price of living!"said Magsie. "She's the janitor's wife, and they're rich already. What possessed you?"

"Well, she unpinned her skirts and went after the boy, " Billy saididly, "and it was the only thing I had. " She was trying quietly tosee the name on the envelope Magsie had destroyed, but beingunsuccessful, she went on more briskly, "How is the beau, by theway?"

"I wish I had never seen the man!" Magsie said, glad to talk ofhim. "His wife is raising the roof now---"

"I thought she would!" Billy said wisely. "I didn't see any woman, especially if she's not young, giving all that up without a fight!You know I said so. "

"I know you did, " said Magsie ruefully. "But I don't see what shecan do!"

"Well, she can refuse to give him his divorce, can't she?" Billysaid sensibly. 

"But CAN she?" Magsie was obviously not sure. 

"Of course she can!"

"But she doesn't want him. I went to see her--"

"Went to see her? For heaven's sake, what did you do that for?"

"Because I cared for him, " Magsie said, coloring. 

"For heaven's sake! You had your nerve! And what sort of a personis she?"

"Oh, beautiful! I knew her before. And she said that she would notinterfere. She was as willing as he was; then---"

"But now she's changed her mind?"

"Apparently. " Magsie scowled into space. 

"Well, what does HE say?" Billy asked after a pause. 

"Why, he can't--or he seems to think he can't--force her. "

"Well, I don't know that he can--here. There are states--"

"Yes, I know, but we're here in New York, " Magsie said briefly. Asecond later she sat up, suddenly energetic and definite in voiceand manner. "But there ARE ways of forcing her, as she will soonsee, " said Magsie in a venomous voice. "I have his letters. Icould put the whole thing into a lawyer's hands. There's such athing as-as a breach of promise suit--"

"Not with a married man, " Billy interrupted. Magsie halted, alittle dashed. 

"How do you know?" she demanded. 

"You'd have to show you had been injured--and you've known allalong he was married, " Billy said. 

"Well"--Magsie was scarlet with anger--"I could make him sorry, don't worry about that!" she said childishly. 

"Of course, if his wife DID consent, and then changed her mind, and you sent his letters to her, " Billy said after cogitation. "Itmight--he may have glossed it all over, to her, you know. "

"Exactly!" Magsie said triumphantly. "I knew there was a way!She's a sensitive woman, too. You know you can't go as far as youlike with a girl, Billy, " she went on argumentatively, "withoutpaying for it somehow!"

"Make him pay!" said the practical Billy. 

"I don't want--just money, " Magsie said discontentedly. "I want--Idon't want to be interfered with. I believe I shall do just that, "she went on with a brightening eye. "I'll write him---"

"Tell him. Ever so much more effective than writing!" Billysuggested. 

"Tell him then, " Magsie did not mean to betray his identity if shecould help it, "that I really will send these things on to hiswife--that's just what I'll do!"

"Are there children?" asked Billy. 

"Two--girls, " Magsie said with barely perceptible hesitation. 

"Grown?" pursued the visitor. 

"Ye-es, I believe so. " Magsie was too clever to multiplyunnecessary untruths. She began to dress. 

"What are you doing this afternoon?" asked Billy. "I have theButlers' car for the day. Joe brought it into town to be fixed, and can't drive it out until tomorrow. We might do something. It'sa gorgeous car. "

"I'm not doing one thing in the world. Where's Joe?"

"Joe Pickering?" asked Billy. "Oh, he's gone off with some men forsome golf and poker. We might find someone, and go on a party. Where could we go--Long Beach? It's going to be stifling hot. "

"Stay and have lunch with me, " said Magsie. 

"I can't to-day. I'm lunching with a theatrical man at Sherry's. Itell you I'm in deadly earnest. I'm going to break in! Suppose Icome here for you at just three. Meanwhile, you think up someone. How about Bryan Masters?"

Magsie made a face. 

"Well, " said Billy, departing, "you think of someone, and I will. Perhaps the Royces would go--a nice little early party. The worstof it is, no one's in town!"

She ran downstairs and jumped into the beautiful car. 

"Sherry's, please, Hungerford, " said Billy easily. "And then youmight get your lunch, and come for me sharp at half-past two. "

The man touched his hat. Billy leaned back against the richleather upholstery luxuriously; she was absolutely content. Joewas quiet and away, dear little old Breck was in seventh heavendown on the cool seashore, and there was a prospect of a party to-night. As they rolled smoothly downtown the passing throng mightwell have envied the complacent little figure in coffee-coloredmadras with the big heron feather in her hat. 

When Billy was gone, Magsie, with a thoughtful face and compressedlips, took two packages of letters from her desk and wrapped themfor posting. She fell into deep musing for a few minutes beforeshe wrote Rachael's name on the wrapper, but after that shedressed with her usual care, and carried the package to theelevator boy for mailing. As she came back to her rooms a callerwas announced and followed her name into Magsie's apartment almostimmediately. Magsie, with a pang of consternation, found herselffacing Richie Gardiner's mother. 

Anna would never have permitted this, was Magsie's first resentfulthought, but Anna was on a vacation, and the elevator boy couldnot be expected to discriminate. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Gardiner, " said Magsie; "you'll excuse mydressing all over the place, but I have no maid this week. How'sRichie?"

Mrs. Gardiner was oblivious of anything amiss. She sat down, firstremoving a filmy scarf of Magsie's from a chair, and smiled, thelittle muscle-twitching smile of a person in pain, as if shehardly heard Magsie's easy talk. 

"He doesn't seem to get better, Miss Clay, " said she, almostsnorting in her violent effort to breathe quietly. "Doctor doesn'tsay he gets worse, but of course he don't fool me--I know my boy'spretty sick. "

The agony of helpless motherhood was not all lost upon Magsie, even though it was displayed by a large, plain woman inpreposterous clothes, strangely introduced into her pretty rooms, and a most incongruous figure there. 

"What a SHAME!" she said warmly. 

"It's a shame to anyone that knew Rich as I did a few years ago, "his mother said. "There wasn't a brighter nor a hardier child. Itwasn't until we came to this city that he begun to give way--andwhat wonder? It'd kill a horse to live in this place. I wish toGod that I had got him out of it when he had that first spell. Imay be--I don't know, but I may be too late now. " Tears came toher eyes, the hard tears of a proud and suffering woman. She tookout a folded handkerchief and pressed it unashamedly to her eyes. "But he wouldn't go, " she resumed, clearing her throat. "He wasgoing to stay here, live or die. And Miss Clay, YOU know why!" Shestopped short, a terrible look upon Magsie. 

"I?" faltered Magsie, coloring, and feeling as if she would cryherself. 

"You kept him, " said his mother. "He hung round you like a beeround a rose--poor, sick boy that he was! He's losing sleep nowbecause he can't get you out of his thoughts. "

She stopped again, and Magsie hung her head. 

"I'm sorry, " she said slowly. And with the childish words camechildish tears. "I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Gardiner, " stammeredMagsie. "I know--I've known all along--how Richie feels to me. Isuppose I could have stopped him, got him to go away, perhaps, intime. But--but I've been unhappy myself, Mrs. Gardiner. A person--I love has been cruel to me. I don't know what I'm going to do. Iworry and worry!" Magsie was frankly crying now. "I wish there wassomething I could do for Richie, but I can't tell him I care!" shesobbed. 

Both women sat in miserable silence for a moment, then RichardGardiner's mother said: "It wouldn't do you any harm to just--ifyou would--to just see him, would it? Don't say anything aboutthis other man. Could you do that? Couldn't you let him think thatmaybe if he went away and came back all well you'd--you might--there might be some chance for him? Doctor says he's got to goaway AT ONCE if he's going to get well. "

The anguish in her voice and manner reached Magsie at last. Therewas nothing cruel about the little actress, however sordid herambitions and however selfish her plans. 

"Could you get him away, now?" she said almost timidly. "Is hestrong enough to go?"

"That's what Doctor says; he ought to go away TO-DAY, but--but hewon't lissen to me, " his mother answered with trembling lips. "He's all I have. I just live for Rich. I loved his father, andwhen Dick was killed I had only him. "

"I'll go see him, " said Magsie in sudden generous impulse. "I'lltell him to take care of himself. It's simply wicked of him tothrow his life away like this. "

"Miss Clay, " said Mrs. Gardiner with a break in her strong, deepvoice, "if you do that--may the Lord send you the happiness yougive my boy!" She began to cry again. 

"Why, Mrs. Gardiner, " said Magsie in a hurt, childish voice, "ILIKE Richie!"

"Well, he likes you all right, " said his mother on a long, quivering breath. With big, coarse, tender fingers she helpedMagsie with the last hooks and bands of her toilette. "If youain't as pretty and dainty as a little wax doll!" she observedadmiringly. Magsie merely sighed in answer. Wax dolls had theirtroubles!

But she liked the doglike devotion of Richie's big mother, and thebeautiful car--Richie's car. Perhaps the hurt to her heart and herpride had altered Magsie's sense of values. At all events, she didnot even shrink from Richie to-day. 

She sat down beside the white bed, beside the bony form that thecounterpane revealed in outline, and smiled at Richie's dark, thineager face and sunken, adoring eyes. She laid her warm, plumplittle hand between his long, thin fingers. After a while thenurse timidly suggested the detested milk; Richie drank itdutifully for Magsie. 

They were left together in the cool, airy, orderly room, and inlow, confidential tones they talked. Magsie was well aware thatthe big doctors themselves would not interrupt this talk, that thenurses and the mother were keeping guard outside the door. Richiewas conscious of nothing but Magsie. 

In this hour the girl thought of the stormy years that were pastand the stormy future. She had played her last card in the gamefor Warren Gregory's love. The letters, without an additionalword, were gone to Rachael. If Rachael chose to use them againstWarren, then the road for Magsie, if long, was unobstructed. Butsuppose Rachael, with that baffling superiority of hers, decidednot to use them?

Magsie had seriously considered and seriously abandoned the ideaof holding out several letters from the packages, but the letters, as legal documents, had no value to anyone but Rachael. If Rachaelchose to forgive and ignore the writing of them, they were so muchwaste paper, and Magsie had no more hold over Warren than anyother young woman of his acquaintance. 

But Magsie was more or less committed to a complete change. Thebreak with Bowman could not be avoided without great awkwardnessnow. She despised herself for having so simply accepted a bankaccount from Warren, yet what else could she do? Magsie had wantedmoney all her life, and when that money was gone---Richie wasfalling into a doze, his hand still tightly clasping hers. Sheslipped to her knees beside the bed, and as he lazily opened hiseyes she gave him a smile that turned the room to Heaven for him. When a nurse peeped cautiously in, a warning nod from Magsie sentthe surprised and delighted woman away again with the great news. Mr. Gardiner was asleep!

The clock struck twelve, struck one, still Magsie knelt by thebedside, watching the sleeping face. Outside the city was silentunder the summer sun. In the great hospital feet cheeped alongwide corridors, now and then a door was opened or closed. Therewas no other sound. 

Magsie eyed her charge affectionately. When he had come to herdressing-room in former days trying to ignore his cough, trying totake her about and to order her suppers as the other men did, hehad been vaguely irritating; but here in this plain little bed, soboyish, so dependent, so appreciative, he seemed more attractivethan he ever had before. Whatever there was maternal in Magsierose to meet his need. She could not but be impressed by the royalsolicitude that surrounded the heir to the "Little Dick Mine. "Mrs. Richard Gardiner would be something of a personage, thoughtMagsie dreamily. He might not live long!

Of course, that was calculating and despicable; she was not thewoman to marry where she did not love! But then she really didlove Richie in a way. And Richie loved her--no question of that!Loved her more than Warren did for all his letters and gifts, shedecided resentfully. 

When Richie wakened, bewildered, at one o'clock, Magsie was stillthere. She insisted that he drink more milk before a word wassaid. Then they talked again, Magsie in a new mood of reluctanceand gentleness, Richie half wild with rising hope and joy. 

"And you would want me to marry you, feeling this way?" Magsiefaltered. 

"Oh, Magsie!" he whispered. 

A tear fell on the thin hand that Magsie was patting. Throughdazzled eyes she saw the future: reckless buying of gowns--briefand few farewells--the private car, the adoring invalid, the greatsunny West with its forests and beaches, the plain gold ring onher little hand. In the whole concerned group--doctor, nurse, valet, mother, maid--young Mrs. Gardiner would be supreme! She sawherself flitting about a California bungalow, lending her youngstrength to Richie's increasing strength in the sunwashed, health-giving air. 

She put her arms about him, laid her rosy cheek against his paleone. 

"And you really want me to go out, " Magsie began, smiling throughtears, "and get a nice special license and a nice little plaingold ring and come back here with a nice kind clergyman, and say'I will'---"

But at this her tears again interrupted her, and Richard, clingingdesperately to her hand, could not speak either for tears. Hismother who had silently entered the room on Magsie's last wordssuddenly put her fat arms about her and gave her the greatmotherly embrace for which, without knowing it, she had hungeredfor years, and they all fell to planning. 

Richard could help only with an occasional assent. There wasnothing to which he would not consent now. They would be marriedas soon as Magsie and his mother could get back with thenecessities. And then would he drink his milk, good boy--and gostraight to sleep, good boy. Then to-morrow he should be helpedinto the softest motor car procurable for money, and into theprivate car that his mother and Magsie meant to engage, by hook orcrook, to-night. In six days they would be watching the bluePacific, and in three weeks Richie should be sleeping out of doorsand coming downstairs to meals. He had only to obey his mother; hehad only to obey his wife. Magsie kissed him good-bye tenderlybefore leaving him for the hour's absence. Her heart was twistinglittle tendrils about him already. He was a sweet, patient dear, she told his mother, and he would simply have to get well!

"God above bless and reward you, Margaret!" was all Mrs. Gardinercould say, but Magsie never tired of hearing it. 

When the two women went down the hospital steps they found BillyPickering, in her large red car, eying them reproachfully from thecurb. 

"This is a nice way to act!" Billy began. "Your janitor's wifesaid you had come here. I've got two men--" Magsie's expressionstopped her. 

"This is Mr. Gardiner's mother, Billy, " Magsie said solemnly. "Thedoctors agree that he must not stand this climate another day. Hehad another sinking spell yesterday, and he--he mustn't haveanother! I am going with them to California--"

"You ARE?" Billy ejaculated in amazement. Magsie bridled inbecoming importance. 

"It is all very sudden, " she said with the weary, patient smile ofthe invalid's wife, "but he won't go without me. " And then, asMrs. Gardiner began to give directions to the driver of her owncar, which was waiting, she went on inconsequentially, and in alow and troubled undertone, "I didn't know what to do. Do--do youthink I'm a fool, Billy?"

"But what'll the other man say?" demanded Billy. 

Magsie, leaning against the door of the car, rubbed the polishedwood with a filmy handkerchief. 

"He won't know, " she said. 

"Won't know? But what will you tell him?"

"Oh, he's not here. He won't be back for ever so long. And--andRichie can't live--they all say that. So if I come back before hedoes, what earthly difference can it make to him that I wasmarried to Richie?"

"MARRIED!" For once in her life Billy was completely at a loss. "But are you going to MARRY him?"

Magsie gave her a solemn look, and nodded gravely. "He loves me, "she said in a soft injured tone, "and I mean to take as good careof him as the best wife in the world could! I'm sick of the stage, and if anything happens with--the other, I shan't have to worry--about money, I mean. I'm not a fool, Billy. I can't let a chancelike this slip. Of course I wouldn't do it if I didn't like himand like his mother, too. And I'll bet he will get well, and I'llnever come back to New York! Of course this is all a secret. We'regoing right down to the City Hall for the license now, and thering---There are a lot of clothes I've got to buy immediately--"

"Why don't you let me run you about?" suggested Billy. "I don'thave to meet the men until six--I'll have to round up anothergirl, too; but I'd love to. Let Mama go back to Mr. Gardiner!"

"Oh, I couldn't, " Magsie said, quite the dutiful daughter. "She'sa wonderful person; she's arranging for our own private car, and acook, and I may take Anna if I can get her!"

"All righto!" agreed Billy. 

A rather speculative look came into her face as the other carwhirled away. She suddenly gave directions to the driver. 

"Drive to Miss Clay's apartment, where you picked me up thismorning, Hungerford!" she said quickly. "I--I think I leftsomething there--gloves--"

"I wonder if you would let me into Miss Clay's apartment?" shesaid to the beaming janitor's wife fifteen minutes later. "MissClay isn't here, and I left my gloves in her rooms. "

Something in Magsie's manner had made her feel that Magsie hadgood reason for keeping the name of her admirer hid. Billy hadfelt for weeks that she would know the name if Magsie everdivulged it. And this morning she had noticed the admission thatthe wronged wife was a beautiful woman--and the hesitation withwhich Magsie had answered "Two girls. " Then Magsie had said thatshe would "write him, " not at all the natural thing to do to a manone was sure to see, and Rachael had said that Warren was away!But most significant of all was her answer to Billy's question asto whether the children were grown. Magsie had admitted that sheknew the wife, had "known her before, " and yet she pretended notto know whether or not the children were grown. Billy had had justa fleeting idea of Warren Gregory before that, but this particularterm confirmed the suspicion suddenly. 

So while Magsie was getting her marriage license, Billy was inMagsie's apartment turning over the contents of her wastepaperbasket in feverish haste. The envelope was ruined, it had beencrushed while wet; a name had been barely started anyway. But herewas the precious scrap of commencement, "My dearest Greg--"

Billy was almost terrified by the discovery. There it was, inirrefutable black and white. She stuffed it back into the basket, and left the house like a thief, panting for the open air. Asuspicion only ten minutes before, now she felt as if no otherfact on earth had ever so fully possessed her. For an hour shedrove about in a daze. Then she went home, and sat down at herdesk, and wrote the following letter:

"Mv DEAR RACHAEL: The letter with the darling little 'B' cameyesterday. I think he is cute to learn to write his own letter soquickly. Tell him that mother is proud of him for picking so manyblackberries, and will love the jam. It is as hot as fire here, and the park has that steamy smell that a hothouse has. I havebeen driving about in Joe Butler's car all afternoon. We are goingto Long Beach to-night. 

"Rachael--Magsie Clay and a man named Richard Gardiner weremarried this afternoon. He is an invalid or something; he is atSt. Luke's Hospital, and she and his mother are going to take himto California at once. What do you know about that? Of course thisis a secret, and for Heaven's sake, if you tell anybody this, don't say I gave it away. 

"If Magsie Clay should send you a bunch of letters, she will justdo it to be a devil, and I want to ask you to burn them up beforeyou read them. You know how you talked to me about divorce, Rachael! What you don't know can't hurt you. Don't please MagsieClay to the extent of doing exactly what she wants you to do. Ifanyone you love has been a fool, why, it is certainly hard tounderstand how they could, but you stand by what you said to methe other day, and forget it. 

"I feel as if I was breaking into your own affairs. I hope youwon't care, and that I'm not all in the dark about this--""Affectionately, BILLY. "

CHAPTER VI

This letter, creased from constant reading, Rachael showed toGeorge Valentine a week later. The doctor, who had spent the week-end with his family at Clark's Hills, was in his car and runningpast the gate of Home Dunes on his way back to town when Rachaelstopped him. She looked her composed and dignified self in herstriped blue linen and deep-brimmed hat, but the man's trainedlook found the circles about her wonderful eyes, and he detectedsigns of utter weariness in her voice. 

"Read this, George, " said she, resting against the door of hiscar, and opening the letter before him. "This came from Billy--Mrs. Pickering, you know--several days ago. "

George read the document through twice, then raised questioningeyes to hers, and made the mouth of a whistler. 

"What do you think?" Rachael questioned in her turn. 

"Lord! I don't know what to think, " said George. "Do you supposethis can be true?"

Rachael sighed wearily, staring down the road under the warmingleaves of the maples into a far vista of bare dunes in thinningSeptember sunshine. 

"It might be, I suppose. You can see that Billy believes it, " shesaid. 

"Sure, she believes it, " George agreed. "At least, we can findout. But I don't understand it!"

"Understand it?" she echoed in rich scorn. "Who understandsanything of the whole miserable business? Do I? Does Warren, doyou suppose?"

"No, of course nobody does, " George said hastily in distress. Heregarded the paper almost balefully. "This is the deuce of athing!" he said. "If she didn't care for him any more than that, what's all the fuss about? I don't believe the threat aboutsending his letters, anyway!" he added hardily. 

"Oh, that was true enough, " Rachael said lifelessly. "They came. "

George gave her an alarmed glance, but did not speak. 

"A great package of them came, " Rachael added dully. "I didn'topen it. I had a fire that morning, and I simply set it on thefire. " Her voice sank, her eyes, brooding and sombre, were faraway. "But I watched it burning, George, " she said in a low, absent tone, "and I saw his handwriting--how well I know it--Warren's writing, on dozens and dozens of letters--there must havebeen a hundred! To think of it--to think of it!"

Her voice was like some living thing writhing in anguish. Georgecould think of nothing to say. He looked about helplessly, buttoned a glove button briskly, folded the letter, and made somework of putting it away in an inside pocket. 

"Well, " Rachael said, straightening up suddenly, and with resolutecourage returning to her manner and voice, "you'll have, somebodylook it up, will you, George?"

"You may depend upon it-immediately, " George said huskily. "It--ofcourse it will make an immense difference, " he added, in hisanxiety to be reassuring saying exactly the wrong thing. 

Rachael was pale. 

"I don't know how anything can make a great difference now, George, " she answered slowly. "The thing remains--a fact. Ofcourse this ends, in one way, the sordid side, the fear ofpublicity, of notoriety. But that wasn't the phase of it that evercounted with me. This will probably hurt Warren--"

"Oh, Rachael, dear old girl, don't talk that way!" Georgeprotested. "You can't believe that Warren will feel anything buta--a most unbelievable relief! We all know that. He's not thefirst man who let a pretty face drive him crazy when he wasworking himself to death. " George was studying her as he spoke, with all his honest heart in his look, but Rachael merely shookher head forlornly. 

"Perhaps I don't understand men, " she said with a mildness thatGeorge found infinitely more disturbing than any fury would havebeen. 

"Well, I'll look up records at the City Hall, " he said after apause. "That's the first thing to do. And then I'll let you know. Boys well this morning?"

"Lovely, " Rachael smiled. "My trio goes fishing to-day, packingits lunch itself, and asking no feminine assistance. The lunchwill be eaten by ten o'clock, and the boys home at half-past ten, thinking it is almost sundown. They only go as far as the cove, where the men are working, and we can see the tops of their headsfrom the upstairs' porch, so Mary and I won't feel entirelyunprotected. I'm to lunch with Alice, so my day is nicelyplanned!"

The bright look did not deceive him, nor the reassuring tone. ButGeorge Valentine's friendship was more easily displayed by deedsthan words, and now, with an affectionate pat for her hand, hetouched his starter, and the car leaped upon its way. Just fourhours later he telephoned Alice that the wedding license ofMargaret Rose Clay and Richard Gardiner had indeed been issued aweek before, and that Magsie was not to be found at her apartment, which was to be sublet at the janitor's discretion; that Bowman'ssecretary reported the absence of Miss Clay from the city, and theuncertainty of her appearing in any of Mr. Bowman's productionsthat winter, and that at the hospital a confident inquiry for "Mr. And Mrs. Gardiner" had resulted in the discreet reply that "theparties" had left for California. George, with what was for him arare flash of imagination, had casually inquired as to the name ofthe clergyman who had performed the ceremony, being answereddispassionately that the person at the other end of the telephone"didn't know. "

"George, you are an absolute WONDER!" said Alice's proud voice, faintly echoed from Clark's Hills. "Now, shall you cable--anybody--you know who I mean?"

"I have, " answered the efficient George, "already. "

"Oh, George! And what will he do?"

"Well, eventually, he'll come back. "

"Do you THINK so? I don't!"

"Well, anyway, we'll see. "

"And you're an angel, " said Mrs. Valentine, finishing theconversation. 

Ten days later Warren Gregory walked into George Valentine'soffice, and the two men gripped hands without speaking. ThatWarren had left for America the day George's cable reached himthere was no need to say. That he was a man almost sick with emptydays and brooding nights there was no need to say. George wasshocked in the first instant of meeting, and found himself, asthey talked together, increasingly shocked at the other's aspect. 

Warren was thin, his hair actually showed more gray, there weredeep lines about his mouth. But it was not only that; his eyes hada tired and haunted look that George found sad to see, his voicehad lost its old confident ring, and he seemed weary and shaken. He asked for Alice and the children, and for Rachael and the boys. 

"Rachael's well, " George said. "She looks--well, she shows whatshe's been through; but she's very handsome. And the boys arefine. We had the whole crowd down as far as Shark Light for apicnic last Sunday. Rachael has little Breck Pickering down therenow; he's a nice little chap, younger than our Katrina--Jim's age. The youngster is in paradise, sure enough, and putting on weightat a great rate. "

"I didn't know he was there, " Warren said slowly. "Like her--totake him in. I wish I had been there--Sunday. I wish to the Lordthat it was all a horrible dream!"

He stopped and sat silent, looking gloomily at the floor, hiswhole figure, George thought, indicating a broken and shamedspirit. 

"Well, Magsie's settled, at least, " said George after a silence. 

"Yes. That wasn't what counted, though, " Warren said, as Rachaelhad said. "She is settled without my moving; there's no way inwhich I can ever make Rachael feel that I would have moved. " Againhis voice sank into silence, but presently he roused himself. "I've come back to work, George, " he said with a quiet decision ofmanner that George found new and admirable. "That's all I can donow. If she ever forgives me--but she's not the kind thatforgives. She's not weak--Rachael. But anyway, I can work. I'll go to the old house, for the present, and get things inorder. And you drop a hint to Alice, when she talks to Rachael, that I've not got anything to say. I'll not annoy her. "

George's heart ached for him as Warren suddenly covered his facewith his hands. Warren had always been the adored younger brotherto him, Warren's wonderful fingers over the surgical table, amiracle that gave their owner the right to claim whatever humanweaknesses and failings he might, as a balance. George had neverthought him perfect, as so much of the world thought him; toGeorge, Warren had always been a little more than perfect, amachine of inspired surgery, underbalanced in many ways that inthis one supreme way he might be more than human. George had tostruggle for what he achieved; Warren achieved by divine right. The women were in the right of it now, George conceded, they hadthe argument. But of course they didn't understand--a thing likethat had nothing to do with Warren's wife; Rachael wasn't broughtinto the question at all. And Lord! when all was said and doneWarren was Warren, and professionally the biggest figure inGeorge's world. 

"I don't suppose you feel like taking Hudson's work?" said Georgenow. "He's crazy to get away, and he was telling me yesterday thathe didn't see himself breaking out of it. Mrs. Hudson wants to goto her own people, in Montreal, and I suppose Jack would be gladto go, too. "

"Take it in a minute!" Warren said, his whole expression changing. "Of course I'll take it. I'm going to spend this afternoon gettingthings into shape at the house, and I think I'll drop round at thehospital about five. But I can start right in to-morrow. "

"It isn't too much?" George asked affectionately. 

"Too much? It's the only thing that will save my reason, I think, "Warren answered, and after that George said no more. 

The two men lunched together, and dined together, five times aweek, with a curious change from old times: it was Warren wholistened, and George who did the talking now. They talked of caseschiefly, for Warren was working day and night, and thought oflittle else than his work; but once or twice, as September waned, and October moved toward its close, there burst from him anoccasional inquiry as to his wife. 

"Will she ever forgive me, George?" Warren asked one cool autumndawning when the two men were walking away from the hospital underthe fading stars. Warren had commenced an operation just beforemidnight, it was only concluded now, and George, who had remainedbeside him for sheer admiration of his daring and his skill, hadsuggested that they walk for a while, and shake off the atmosphereof ether and of pain. 

"It's a time like this I miss her, " Warren said. "I took it allfor granted, then. But after such a night as this, when I would gohome in those first years, and creep into bed, she was never toosleepy to rouse and ask me how the case went, she never failed tosee that the house was quiet the next morning, and she'd bring inmy tray herself--Lord, a woman like that, waiting on me!"

George shook his head but did not speak. They walked an echoingblock or two in silence. 

"George, I need my wife, " Warren said then. "There isn't an hourof my life that some phase of our life together doesn't come backto me and wring my heart. I don't want anything else--our sons, our fireside, our interests together. I've heard her voice eversince. And I'm changed, George, not in what I always believed, because I know right from wrong, and always have, but I don'tbelieve in myself any more. I want my kids to be taught laws--nottheir own laws. I want to go on my knees to my girl---"

His voice thickened suddenly, and they walked on with no attempton either side to end the silence for a long time. The citystreets were wet from a rain, but day was breaking in hopefulpearl and rose. 

"I can say this, " said George at last: "I believe that she needsyou as much as you do her. But Rachael's proud--"

"Ah, yes, she's that!" Warren said eagerly as he paused. 

"And Warren, she has been dragged through the muck during the lastfew years, " George resumed in a mildly expostulatory tone. 

"Oh, I know it!" Warren answered, stricken. 

"She hates coarseness, " pursued George, "she hates weakness. Ibelieve that if ever a divorce was justified in this world, herswas. But to have you come back at her, to have Magsie Clay breakin on her, and begin to yap breezily about divorce, and howprevalent it is, and what a solution it is, why, of course it wasenough to break her heart!"

"Don't!" Warren said thickly, quickening his pace, as if to walkaway from his own insufferable thoughts. 

For many days they did not speak of Rachael again; indeed Georgefelt that there was nothing further to say. He feared in his ownheart that nothing would ever bring about a change in her feeling, or rather, that the change that had been taking place in her forso many weeks was one that would be lasting, that Rachael was analtered woman. 

Alice believed this, too, and Rachael believed it most of all. Indeed, over Rachael's torn and shaken spirit there had fallen oflate a peace and a sense of security that she had never beforeknown in her life. She tried not to think of Warren any more, orat least to think of him as he had been in the happy days whenthey had been all in all to each other. If other thoughts wouldcreep in, and her heart grow hot and bitter within her at thememory of her wrongs, she resolutely fought for composure; nomatter now what he had been or done, that life was dead. She hadher boys, the sunsets and sunrises, the mellowing beauty of theyear. She had her books, and above all her memories. And in thesememories she found much to blame in herself, but much to pity, too. A rudderless little bark, she had been set adrift in soinviting, so welcoming a sea twenty years ago! She had known thatshe was beautiful, and that she must marry--what else? What moreserious thought ever flitted through the brain of little RachaelFairfax than that it was a delicious adventure to face life in arough blue coat and feathered hat, and steer her wild little sailsstraight into the heart of the great waters?

She would have broken Stephen's heart; but Stephen was dead. Shehad seized upon Clarence with never a thought of what she was togive him, with never a prayer as to her fitness to be his wife, nor his fitness to be the father of her children. She had laughedat self-sacrifice, laughed at endurance, laughed at married love--these things were only words to her. And when she had tugged withall her might at the problem before her, and tried, with herpitiable, untrained strength to force what she wished from Fate, then she had flung the whole thing aside, and rushed on to newexperiments--and to new failures. 

Always on the surface, always thinking of the impression she madeon the watching men and women about her, what a life it had been!She had never known who made Clarence's money, what his own fatherhad been like, what the forces were that had formed him, and hadmade him what he was. He did not please her, that began and endedthe story. He had presently flung himself into eternity with aslittle heed as she had cast herself into her new life. 

Ah, but there had been a difference there! She had loved there, and been awakened by great love. Her child's crumpled, rosy foothad come to mean more to her than all the world had meant before. The smile, or the frown, in her husband's eyes had been hersunshine or her storm. Through love she had come to know thebrimming life of the world, the pathos, the comedy that is readyto spill itself over every humble window-sill, the joy that somewoman's heart feels whenever the piping cry of the new-born soundsin a darkened room, the sorrow held by every shabby white hearsethat winds its way through a hot and unnoticing street. She hadclung to husband and sons with the tigerish tenacity that is therightful dower of wife and mother; she had thought the world welllost in holding them. 

And then the sordid, selfish past rose like an ugly mist beforeher, and she found at her lips the bitter cup she had filledherself. She was not so safe now, behind her barrier of love, butthat the terrible machinery she had set in motion might bring itsgrinding wheels to bear upon the lives she guarded. She had flungher solemn promise aside, once; what defence could she make for asecond solemn promise now? The world, divorce mad, spun blindlyon, and the echo of her own complacent "one in twelve" camefaintly, sickly back to her after the happy years. 

"Divorce has actually no place in our laws, it isn't either wrongor right, " Rachael said one autumn day when they were walkingslowly to the beach. Over their heads the trees were turningscarlet; the days were still soft and warm, but twilight fellearlier now, and in the air at morning and evening was theintoxicating sharpness, the thin blue and clear steel color thatmark the dying summer. Alice's three younger children were inschool, and the family came to Clark's Hills only for the week-ends, but Rachael and her boys stayed on and on, enjoying the rarewarmth and beauty of the Indian Summer, and comfortable in the oldhouse that had weathered fifty autumns and would weather fiftymore. 

"In some states it is absolutely illegal, " Rachael continued, "inothers, it's permissible. In some it is a real source of revenue. Now fancy treating any other offence that way! Imagine states inwhich stealing was only a regrettable incident, or where murderwas tolerated! In South Carolina you cannot get a divorce on anygrounds! In Washington the courts can give it to you for any causethey consider sufficient. There was a case: a man and his wifeobtained a divorce and both remarried. Now they find they are bothbigamists, because it was shown that the wife went West, with herhusband's knowledge and consent, to establish her residence therefor the explicit purpose of getting a divorce. It was well-established law that if a husband or wife seek the jurisdiction ofanother state for the sole object of obtaining a divorce, withoutany real intent of living there, making their home there, goes, inother words, just for divorce purposes, then the decree havingbeen fraudulently obtained will not be recognized anywhere!"

"But thousands do it, Rachael. "

"But thousands don't seem to realize--I never did before--thatthat is illegal. You can't deliberately move to Reno or Seattle orSan Francisco for such a purpose. All marriages following adivorce procured under these conditions are illegal. Besides this, the divorce laws as they exist in Washington, California, orNevada are not recognized by other states, and so because a coupleare separated upon the grounds of cruelty or incompatibility insome Western state, they are still legally man and wife in NewYork or Massachusetts. All sorts of hideous complications aregoing on: blackmail and perjury!

"I wonder why divorce laws are so little understood?" Alice mused. 

"Because divorce is an abnormal thing. You can't make it right, and of course we are a long way from making it wrong. But that iswhat it is coming to, I believe. Divorce will be against the lawsome day! No divorce on ANY GROUNDS! It cannot be reconciled tolaw; it defies law. Right on the face of it, it is breaking acontract. Are any other contracts to be broken with publicapproval? We will see the return of the old, simple law, then wewill wonder at ourselves! I am not a woman who takes naturally topublic work--I wish I were. But perhaps some day I can strike thesystem a blow. It is women like me who understand, and who willhelp to end it. "

"It is only the worth-while women who do understand, " said Alice. "You are the marble worth cutting. Life is a series of phases; weare none of us the same from year to year. You are not the samegirl that you were when you married Clarence Breckenridge--"

"What a different woman!" Rachael said under her breath. 

"Well, " said Alice then a little frightened, "why won't you thinkthat perhaps Warren might have changed, too; that whatever Warrenhas done, it was done more like--like the little boy who has neverhad his fling, who gets dizzy with his own freedom, and doessomething foolish without analyzing just what he is doing?"

"But Warren, after all, isn't a child!" Rachael said sadly. 

"But Warren is in some ways; that's just it, " Alice said eagerly. "He has always been singularly--well, unbalanced, in some ways. Don't you know there was always a sort of simplicity, a sort ofbright innocence about Warren? He believed whatever anybody saiduntil you laughed at him; he took every one of his friends on hisown valuation. It's only where his work is concerned that you eversee Warren positive, and dictatorial, and keen--"

Rachael's eyes had filled with tears. 

"But he isn't the man I loved, and married, " she said slowly. "Ithought he was a sort of god--he could do no wrong for me!"

"Yes, but that isn't the way to feel toward anybody, " persistedAlice. "No man is a god, no man is perfect. You're not perfectyourself; I'm not. Can't you just say to yourself that humanbeings are faulty--it may be your form of it to get dignified andsulk, and Warren's to wander off dreamily into curious paths--butthat's life, Rachael, that's 'better or worse, ' isn't it?"

"It isn't a question of my holding out for a mere theory, Alice, "Rachael said after a while; "I'm not saying that I'm all in theright, and that I will never see Warren again until he admits it, and everyone admits it--that isn't what I want. But it's just thatI'm dead, so far as that old feeling is concerned. It is as if achild saw his mother suddenly turn into a fiend, and do somehideously cruel act; no amount of cool reason could ever convincethat child again that his mother was sweet and good. "

"But as you get older, " Alice smiled, "you differentiate betweengood and good, and you see grades in evil, too. Everything isn'tall good or all bad, like the heroes and the villains of the oldplays. If Warren had done a 'hideously cruel' thing deliberately, that would be one thing; what he has done is quite another. TheGod who made us put sex into the world, Warren didn't; and Warrenonly committed, in his--what is it?--forty-eighth year one of thefollies that most boys dispose of in their teens. Be generous, Rachael, and forgive him. Give him another trial!"

"How CAN I forgive him?" Rachael said, badly shaken, and throughtears. "No, no, no, I couldn't! I never can. "

They had reached the beach now, and could see the children, intheir blue field coats, following the curving reaches of theincoming waves. The fresh roar of the breakers filled a silence, gulls piped their wistful little cry as they circled high in theblue air. Old Captain Semple, in his rickety one-seated buggy, drove up the beach, the water rising in the wheel-tracks. Thechildren gathered about him; it was one of their excitements tosee the Captain wash his carriage, and the old mare splash in theshallow water. Alice seated herself on a great log, worn silverfrom the sea, and half buried in the white sand, but Rachaelremained standing, the sweet October wind whipping against herstrong and splendid figure, her beautiful eyes looking far out tosea. 

"You two have no quarrel, " the older woman added mildly. "You andWarren were rarely companionable. I used to say to George that youwere almost TOO congenial, too sensitive to each other's moods. Warren knew that you idolized him, Rachael, and consequently, whencriticism came, when he felt that you of all persons weremisjudging him, why, he simply flung up his head like a horse, andbolted!"

"Misjudging?" Rachael said quickly, half turning her head, andbringing her eyes from the far horizon to rest upon Alice's face. The children had seen them now, and were running toward them, andAlice did not attempt to answer. She sighed, and shrugged hershoulders. 

A dead horseshoe crab on the sands deflected the course of theracing children, except Derry, who pursued his panting way, and asRachael sat down on the log, cast himself, radiant and breathless, into her arms. She caught the child to her heart passionately. Hehad always been closer to her than even the splendid first-bornbecause of the giddy little head that was always getting him intotroubles, and the reckless little feet that never chose a sensiblecourse. Derry was always being rescued from deep water, alwaysleaping blindly from high places and saved by the narrowestpossible chance, always getting his soft mop of hair inextricablytangled in the steering-gear of Rachael's car, or his foothopelessly twisted in the innocent-looking bars of his own bed, always eating mysterious berries, or tasting dangerous medicines, always ready to laugh deeply and deliciously at his own crimes. Jim assumed a protective attitude toward him, chuckling at hispredicaments, advising him, and even gallantly assuming the blamefor his worst misdeeds. Rachael imagined them in boarding-schoolsome day; in college; Jim the student, dragged from his books andwindow-seat to go to the rescue of the unfortunate but fascinatingjunior. Jim said he was going to write books; Derry was going--herheart contracted whenever he said it--was going to be a doctor, and Dad would show him what to do!

Ah, how proud Warren might have been of them, she thought, walkinghome to-day, a sandy hand in each of hers, Derry hopping on onefoot, twisting, and leaping; Jim leaning affectionately againsther, and holding forth as to the proper method of washing wagons!What man would not have been proud of this pair, enchanting infaded galatea now, soon to be introduced to linen knickerbockers, busy with their first toiling capitals now, some day to begrowling Latin verbs. They would be interested in the Zoo thiswinter, and then in skating, and then in football--Warren lovedfootball. He had thrown it all away!

Widowed in spirit, still Rachael was continually reminded that shewas not actually widowed, and in the hurt that came to her, evenin these first months, she found a chilling premonition of theyears to come. Warm-hearted Vera Villalonga wrote impulsively fromthe large establishment at Lakewood that she had acquired for theearly winter. She had heard that Rachael and Greg weren't exactlyhitting it off--hoped to the Lord it wasn't true--anyway, Rachaelhad been perfectly horrible about seeing her old friends; couldn'tshe come at once to Vera, lots of the old crowd were there, andspend a month? Mrs. Barker Emery, meeting Rachael on one of therare occasions when Rachael went into the city, asked pleasantlyfor the boys, and pleasantly did not ask for Warren. Belvedere Baywas gayer than ever this year, Mrs. Emory said; did Rachael knowthat the Duchess of Exton was visiting Mary Moulton--such a dear!Georgiana Vanderwall, visiting the Thomases at Easthampton, motored over one day to spend a sympathetic half morning withRachael, pressing that lady's unresponsive hand with her ownlarge, capable one, and murmuring that of course--one heard--thatthe Bishop of course felt dreadfully--they only hoped--both suchdear sweet people--

Rachael felt as if she would like to take a bath after this well-meant visitation. A day or two later she had a letter fromFlorence, who said that "someone" had told her that the Gregorysmight not be planning to keep their wonderful cook this winter. Ifthat was true, would Rachael be so awfully good as to ask her togo see Mrs. Haviland?

"The pack, " Rachael said to Alice, "is ready to run again!"

CHAPTER VII

November turned chilly, and in its second week there was even aflutter of snow at Clark's Hills. Rachael did not dislike it, andit was a huge adventure to the boys. Nevertheless, she began tofeel that a longer stay down on the bleak coast might be unwise. The old house, for all its purring furnace and double windows, wasdraughty enough to admit icy little fingers of the outside air, here and there, and the village, getting under storm shutters andclosing up this wing or that room for the winter, was sobusinesslike in its preparations as to fill Rachael's heart withmild misgivings. 

Alice still brought her brood down for the week-ends, and it wason one of these that Rachael suddenly decided to move. The twowomen discussed it, Rachael finally agreeing to go to theValentines' for a week before going on to Boston--or it might beWashington or Philadelphia--any other city than the one in whichshe might encounter the boys' father. Alice had never won her topromise a visit before, and although Rachael's confidence in her--for Rachael neither extracted a promise from Alice as to anypossible encounter with Warren, nor reminded her friend that sheplaced herself entirely at Alice's mercy--rather disconcertedAlice, she had a simple woman's strong faith in coincidence, andshe felt, she told George, that the Lord would not let thisopportunity for a reconciliation go by. Mrs. Valentine had seenWarren Gregory now, more than once, and far more potent than anyargument that he might have made was his silence, his mostunexpected and unnatural silence. There was no explanation; indeedWarren had little to say on any subject in these days. He liked tocome now and then, in the evening, to the Valentine house, but hewould not dine there, and confined his remarks almost entirely toanswers to George. Physically, Alice thought him shockinglychanged. 

"He is simply broken, " she said to George, in something likefright. "I didn't know human beings could change that way. Warren--who used to be so positive! Why, he's almost timid!"

She did not tell Rachael this, and George insisted that, whileRachael and the boys were at the house, Warren must be warned tokeep away; so that Alice had frail enough material with which tobuild her dreams. Nevertheless, she dreamed. 

It was finally arranged that Rachael and little Jim should go upto town on a certain Monday with Alice; that Rachael should makevarious engagements then, as to storage, packing, and such mattersas the care of the piano and the car, for the winter. Then Jim, for the first time in his life, would stay away from his motherovernight with Aunt Alice, Rachael returning to Clark's Hills tobring Mary and Derry up the next day in the car. Jim was to go tothe dentist, and to get shoes; there were several excellentreasons why it seemed wise to have him await his mother andbrother in town rather than make the long trip twice in one day. Mary smuggled Derry out of sight when the Monday morning came, andRachael and her oldest son went away with the Valentines in thecar. 

It was a fresh, sweet morning in the early winter, and both women, furred to the eyes, enjoyed the trip. The children, snuggled inbetween them, chattered of their own affairs, and Rachaelinterrupted her inexhaustible talk with Alice only to ask aquestion of the driver now and then. 

"I shall have to bring my own car over this road to-morrow, Kane, "she explained. "I have never been at the wheel myself before inall the times I have done it. "

"Mar-r-tin does be knowin' every step of the way, " suggested Kane. 

"But Martin hasn't been with me this summer, " the lady smiled. 

"I thought I saw him runnin' the docther's car yesterda' week, "mused Kane who was a privileged character. "Well, 'tis not hard, Mrs. Gregory. The whole place is plasthered wid posts. But thething of it is, ma'am, " he added, after a moment, turning backtoward her without taking his eyes from the road, "there does be abig storm blowin' up. Look there, far over there, how black itis. "

"But that won't break to-day?" Rachael said uneasily, thinking ofDerry. 

"Well, it may not--that's thrue. But these roads will be in agrand mess if we have anny more rain--that's a fact for ye, " Kanepersisted. 

"Then don't come until Wednesday, " suggested Alice. 

"Oh, Alice, but I'll be so frantic to see my boy!"

"Twenty-four hours more, you goose!" Alice laughed. Rachaellaughed, too, and took several surreptitious kisses from the backof Jimmy's neck as a fortification against the coming separation. 

Indeed, she found it unbelievably hard to leave him, trottinghappily upstairs with his beloved Katharine, and to go about herday's business anticipating the long trip back to Home Duneswithout him. However, there were not many hours to spare, andRachael had much to do. She set herself systematically to work. 

By one o'clock everything was done, with an hour to spare fortrain time. But she had foolishly omitted luncheon, and felt tiredand dizzy. She turned toward a downtown lunchroom, and was held atthe crossing of Fifth Avenue and one of the thirties idly watchingthe crowd of cars that delayed her when she saw Warren in his car. 

He was on the cross street, and so also stopped, but he did notsee her. Martin was at the wheel, Warren buttoned to the neck in agray coat, his hat well down over his eyes, alone in the backseat. He was staring steadily, yet with unseeing eyes, before him, and Rachael felt a sense of almost sickening shock at the sight ofhis altered face. Warren, looking tired and depressed, lookingdiscouraged, and with some new look of diffidence and hurt, besides all these, in his face! Warren old! Warren OLD!

Rachael felt as if she should faint. She was rooted where shestood. Fifth Avenue pushed gayly and busily by her under theleaden sky. Furred old ladies, furred little girls, messenger boysand club men, jostling, gossiping, planning. Only she stood still. And after a while she looked again where Warren had been. He wasgone. But had he seen her? her heart asked itself with wildclamor. Had he seen her?

She began to walk rapidly and blindly, conscious of taking ageneral direction toward the Terminal Station, but so vague as toher course that she presently looked bewilderedly about to findthat she was in Eighth Avenue and that, standing absolutely stillagain, and held by thought, she was being curiously regarded by apoliceman. She gave the man a dazed and sickly smile. 

"I am afraid I am a little out of my way, " she stammered. "I amgoing to the station. "

He pointed out the direction, and she thanked him, and blindlywent on her way. But her heart was tearing like a living thing inher breast, and she walked like a wounded creature that leaves atrail of life blood. 

Oh, she was his wife--his wife--his wife! She belonged there, inthat empty seat beside him, with her shoulder against that grayovercoat! What was she doing in this desolate street of littleshops, faint and heartsick and alone! Oh, for the security of thatfamiliar car again! How often she had sat beside him, arrested bythe traffic, content to placidly watch the shifting crowd, to waitfor the shrill little whistle that gave them the right of way! Ifshe were there now, where might they be going? Perhaps to aconcert, perhaps to look at a picture in some gallery, but firstof all certainly to lunch. His first question would be: "Had yourlunch?" and his answer only a satisfied nod. But he would directMartin to the first place that suggested itself to him as beingsuitable for Rachael's meal. And he would order it, no trouble wastoo much for her; nothing too good for his wife. 

She was not beside him. She was still drifting along this hideousstreet, battling with faintness and headache, and never, perhaps, to see her husband again. One of her sons was in the city, anothermiles away, To her horror she felt herself beginning to cry. Shequickened her pace, and reckless of the waiter's concern, enteredthe station restaurant and ordered herself a lunch. But when itcame she could not eat it, and she was presently in the train, without a book or magazine, still fasting except for a hurriedhalf cup of tea, and every instant less and less able to resistthe corning flood of her tears. 

All the long trip home she wept, quietly and steadily, one arm onthe window sill, a hand pressed against her face. There were fewother passengers in the train, which was too hot. The wintertwilight shut down early, and at last the storm broke; notviolently, but with a stern and steady persistence. The windowsran rain, and were blurred with steam, the darkening landscapeswept by under a deluge. When the train stopped at a station, arush of wet air, mingled with the odors of mackintoshes and thewet leather of motor cars, came in. Rachael would look out to seemeetings, lanterns and raincoats, umbrellas dripping over eager, rosy faces. 

She would be glad to get home, she said to herself, to her snugglylittle comforting Derry. They would not attempt to make the moveto-morrow--that was absurd. It had been far too much of a trip to-day, and Alice had advised her against it. But it had not soundedso formidable. To start at seven, be in town at ten, after thebrisk run, and take the afternoon train home--this was no suchstrain, as they had planned it. But it had proved to be afrightful strain. Leaving Jim, and then catching that heart-rending glimpse of the changed Warren--Warren looking like a hurtchild who must bear a punishment without understanding it. 

"Oh, what are we thinking about, to act in this crazy manner!"Rachael asked herself desperately. "He loves me, and I--I'vealways loved him. Other people may misjudge him, but I know! He'shorrified and shamed and sorry. He's suffering as much as I am. What fools--what utter FOOLS we are!"

And suddenly--it was nearly six o'clock now, and they were withina few minutes of Clark's Hills--she stopped crying, and began toplan a letter that should end the whole terrible episode. 

"Your stop Quaker Bridge?" asked the conductor, coming in, andbeginning to shift the seats briskly on their iron pivots, as onewho expected a large crowd to accompany him on the run back. 

"Clark's Hills, " Rachael said, noticing that she was alone in thetrain. 

"Don't know as we can get over the Bar, " the man said cheerily. 

"Looks as if we were going to try it!" Rachael answered with equalaplomb as the train ran through Quaker Bridge without stopping, and went on with only slightly decreased speed. And a moment latershe began to gather her possessions together, and the conductorremarked amiably: "Here we are! But she surely is raining, " headded. "Well, we've only got to run back as far as the car barn--that's Seawall--to-night. My folks live there. "

Rachael did not mind the rain. She would be at home in fiveminutes. She climbed into a closed surrey, smelling strongly ofleather and horses, and asked the driver pleasantly how early therain had commenced. He evidently did not hear her, at all eventsmade no answer, and she did not speak again. 

"Where's my Derry?" Rachael's voice rang strong and happy throughthe house. "Mary--Mary!" she added, stopping, rather puzzled, inthe hall. "Where is he?"

How did it come to her, by what degrees? How does such news tellitself, from the first little chill, that is not quite fear, tothe full thundering avalanche of utter horror? Rachael neverremembered afterward, never tried to remember. The moment remainedthe blackest of all her life. It was not the subtly changedatmosphere of the house, not Mary's tear-swollen face, as sheappeared, silent, at the top of the stairs; not Millie, who cameashen-faced and panting from the kitchen; not the sudden, wearylittle moan that floated softly through the hallway--no one of allthese things. 

Yet Rachael knew--Derry was dying. She needed not to know how orwhy. Her furs fell where she stood, her hat was gone, she hadflown upstairs as swiftly as light. She knew the door, she knewwhat she would see. She went down on her knees beside him. 

Her little gallant, reckless, shouting Derry! Her warm, beautifulboy, changed in these few hours to this crushed and moaning littlebeing, this cruelly crumpled and tortured little wreck of all thathad been gay and sound and confident babyhood!

In that first moment at his side it had seemed to Rachael that shemust die, too, of sheer agony of spirit. She put her beautifulhead down against the brown little limp hand upon which a rustystain was drying, and she could have wailed aloud in the bitterrebellion of her soul. Not Derry, not Derry, so small and innocentand confiding--her own child, her own flesh and blood, the fibreof her being! Trusting them, obeying them, and betrayed--broughtto this!

At her first look she had thought the child dead; now, as she drewback from him, and caught her self-control with a quiveringbreath, and wrung her hands together in desperate effort to holdback a scream, she found it in her heart to wish he were. Hislittle face was black from a great bruise that spread from templeto chin, his mouth cut and swollen, his eyes half shut. His bodywas doubled where it lay, a great bubble of blood moved with hisbreath. He breathed lightly and faintly, with an occasional deepgasp that invariably brought the long, heart-sickening moan. Theyhad taken off part of his clothes, his shoes and stockings, but hestill wore his Holland suit, and the dark-blue woolen coat hadonly been partly removed. 

Rachael, ashen-faced, rose from her knees, and faced Mary andMillie. With bitter tears the story was told. He had been playing, as usual, in the barn, and Mary had been swinging him. Not high, nothing like as high as Jimmie went. And Millie came out to saythat their dinner was ready, and all of a sudden he called outthat he could swing without holding on, and put both his hands upin the air. And then Mary saw him fall, the board of the swingfalling, too, and striking him as he fell, and his face dashingagainst the old mill-wheel that stood by the door. And he had notspoken since. 

His arm had hung down loose-like, as Mary carried him in, andMillie had run for the doctor. But Doctor Peet wouldn't be backuntil seven, and the girls had dared do no more than wash off hisface a little and try to make him comfortable. "I wish the Lordhad called me before the day came, " said Mary, "me, that wouldhave died for him--for any of you!"

"I know that, Mary, " Rachael said. "It would have happened aseasily with me. We all know what you have been to the boys, Mary. But you mustn't cry so hard. I need you. I am going to drive himinto town. "

"Oh, my God, in this storm?" exclaimed Millie. 

"There's nothing else to do, " Rachael said. "He may die on theway, but his mother will do what she can. I couldn't have DoctorPeet, kind as he is. Doctor Gregory--his father--will know. It'snearly seven now. We must start as fast as we can. You'll have topin something all about the back seat, Mary, and line it withcomforters. We'll put his mattress on the seat--you'll make itsnug, won't you?--and you'll sit on the floor there, and steadyhim all you can, for I'll have to drive. We ought to be there bymidnight, even in the storm. "

"I'll fix it, " Mary said, with one great sob, and immediately, toRachael's great relief, she was her practical self. 

"And I want some coffee, Millie, " she said, "strong; I'm nothungry, but if you have something ready, I'll eat what I can. DidRuddy come up and get the car to-day, for oil and gas, and so on?"

"He did, " said Millie, eager to be helpful. 

"That's a blessing. " Rachael turned to look at the little figureon the bed. Her heart contracted with a freezing spasm of terrorwhenever her eyes even moved in that direction. 

But there was plenty to do. She got herself into dry, warmclothes. She leaned over her little charge, straightening andadjusting as best she could, shifting the little body as gently aswas possible to the smaller mattress, covering it warmly butlightly. As she did so she wondered which one of those long, moaning breaths would be the last; when would little Derrystraighten himself--and lie still?

No time to think of that. She tied on her hat and veil, and wentout to look at the car. The rear seat was lined with pillows, thecurtain drawn. She had matches, her electric flashlight, her roadmaps, a flask of brandy--what else?

Millie had run for neighbors, and the chains were finallyadjusted. The car had been made ready for the run, and was in goodshape. 

The big shadowy barn that was the garage was full of dancingshapes in the lantern-light. The rain splashed and spatteredincessantly outside; a black sky seemed to have closed down justover their heads. She was in a fever to get away. 

Slowly the dazzling headlights moved in the pitchy blackness, thewheels grated but held their own. The car came to the side door, and the little mattress came out, and the muffled shape that wasMary got in beside it. Then there was buttoning of storm curtainsby willing hands, and many a whispered good wish to Rachael as sheslipped in under the wheel. Millie was beside her, at the lastmoment, begging to be of some use if she might. 

"There's just this, Mrs. Gregory, " said Ruddy Simms nervously, when the engine was humming, and, Rachael's gloved hand racing theaccelerator, "they say the tide's making fast in all this rain! Idon't know how you'll do at the Bar. She's ugly a night, likethis; what with the bay eating one side, and the sea breaking overthe other!"

"Thank you, " Rachael said, not hearing him. "God bless you! Good-bye!"

She released the clutch. The big car leaped forward, into thedarkness. The clock before her eyes said thirty-five minutes pastseven. Rain beat against the heavy cloth of the curtains, waterswished and splashed under the wheels, and above the purring ofthe engine they could hear the clinking fall of the chains. Therewas no other sound except when Derry caught a moaning breath. 

Clark's Hills passed in blackness, the road dropped down towardthe Bar. Rachael could feel that Mary, in the back seat, waspraying, and that Millie was praying beside her. Her own heartrose on a wild and desperate prayer. If they could cross thisnarrow strip between the bay and the ocean, then whatever thefortune of the road, she could meet it. Telephones, at least, wereon the other side, resources of all sorts. But to be stopped here!

The look of the Bar, when they reached it, struck chill even toRachael's heart. In the clear tunnels of light flung from the carlamps it seemed all a moving level of restless water smitten undersheets of rain. Anything more desperate than an effort to find thelittle belt of safety in this trackless spread of merciless seasit would be hard to imagine. At an ordinary high tide the Bar wasbut a few inches above the sea; now, with a wind blowing, a heavyrain falling, and the tide almost at the full, no road whateverwas visible. It was there, the friendly road that Rachael and thehot and sandy boys had tramped a hundred times, but even she couldnot believe it, now, so utterly impassable did the shiftingsurface appear. 

But she gallantly put the car straight into the heart of it, moving as slowly as the engine permitted, and sending quick, apprehensive glances into the darkness as she went. 

"At the worst, we can back out of this, Millie, " said she. 

"Of course we can, " Millie said, suppressing frightened tears withsome courage. 

The water was washing roughly against the running boards; to anonlooker the car would have had the appearance of being afloat, hub-deep, at sea. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly they were still moving. The car stoppedshort. The engine was dead. Rachael touched her starter, touchedit again and again. No use. The car had stopped. The rain struckin noisy sheets against the curtains. The sea gurgled and rushedabout them. Derry moaned softly. 

And now the full madness of the attempted expedition struck herfor the first time. She had never thought that, at worst, shecould not go back. What now? Should they stand here on theshifting sand of the Bar until the tide fell--it was not yet full. Rachael felt her heart beating quick with terror. It began to seemlike a feverish dream. 

Neither maid spoke, perhaps neither one realized the full extentof the calamity. With the confidence of those who do notunderstand the workings of a car, they waited to have it startagain. 

But both girls screamed when suddenly a new voice was heard. Rachael, starting nervously as a man's figure came about the carout of the black night, in the next second saw, with a great rushof relief, that it was Ruddy Simms. He was a mighty fellow, devoted to the Gregorys. He proceeded rather awkwardly to explainthat he hadn't liked to think of their trying to cross the Bar, and so had come with them on the running board. 

"Oh, Ruddy, how grateful I am to you!" Rachael said. "Perhaps youcan go back and get us a tow? What can we do?"

"Stuck?" asked Ruddy, wading as unconcernedly about the car as ifthe sun were shining on the scene. 

"No, I don't think so, not yet. But I can feel the road under usgiving already. And I've killed my engine!"

Ruddy deliberated. 

"Won't start, eh?"

"She simply WON'T!"

"Ain't got a crank, have ye?"

Rachael stared. 

"Why, yes, we have, under my seat here. But is there a chance thatshe might start on cranking?" she said eagerly. 

"Dun't know, " Ruddy said non-committally. 

Rachael was instantly on her feet, and after some groping andadjusting, the cranking was attempted. Failure. Ruddy went bravelyat it again. Failure. Again Rachael touched the starter. 

"No use!" she said with a sinking heart. 

But Ruddy was bred of sea-folk who do not expect quick results. Hetugged away again vigorously, and again after that. And suddenly--the most delicious sound that Rachael's ears had ever heard--therewas the sucking and plunging that meant success. The car pantedlike a giant revived, and Ruddy stood back in the merciless greenlight and sent Rachael a smile. His homely face, running rain, looked at her as bright as an angel's. 

"Dun't know as I'd stand there, s'deep in my tracks!" shoutedRuddy. 

Gingerly, timidly, she pushed the car on some ten feet. "What I'sthinking, " suggested Ruddy then, coming to put his face in closeto hers, and shouting over the noise of wind and water, "is this:if I was to walk ahead of ye, kinder feeling for the road with myfeet, then you could come after, d'ye see?"

"Oh, Ruddy, do you think we can make it, then?" Rachael's face waswet with tears. 

"Dun't know, " he said. He took off his immense boots and graysocks, and rolled up his wet trousers, the better to feel everyinch of rise or fall in the ground beneath his feet, and Millieheld these for him as if it were a sacred charge. 

And then, with the full light of the lamps illumining his bigfigure, and with the water rushing and gurgling about them, andthe rain pouring down as if it were an actual deluge, they madethe crossing at Clark's Bar. The shifting water almost blindedRachael sometimes, and sometimes it seemed as if any way but theway that Ruddy's waving arms indicated was the right one; as if tofollow him were utter madness. The water spouted up through theclutch, and once again the engine stopped, and long moments wentby before it would respond to the crank again. But Rachael pushedslowly on. She was not thinking now, she was conscious of nofeeling but that there was an opposite shore, and she must reachit. 

And presently it rose before them. The road ran gradually upward, a shallow sheet of running water covering it, but firm, hardroadway discernible nevertheless. Rachael stopped the car, andRuddy came again and put his face close to hers, through thecurtains. 

"Now ye've got straight road, Mrs. Gregory, and I hope to the goodLord you'll have a good run. Thank ye, Millie--much obliged!"

"Ruddy!" said Rachael passionately, her wet gloves holding hisbig, hairy hands tight. "I'll never forget this! If he has achance to live at all, this is his chance, and you've given it tohim! God bless you, a thousand times!"

"That's all right, " said Ruddy, terribly embarrassed. "You'vealways been awful good to my folks. I'm glad we done it! Good-night!" Then Ruddy had turned back for the walk home in thestreaming blackness, and Rachael, drawing a deep breath, was onher way again. She stopped only for a quick question to Mary. 

"No change?"

"Just the same. "

The wet miles flew by; rain beat untiringly against the curtains, slished in two great feathers of water from under the rushingwheels. Rachael watched her speedometer; twenty-five--twenty-eight--thirty--they could not do better than that in this weather. And they had a hundred miles to go. 

But that hundred was only eighty-six now, only eighty. Villagesflew by, and men came out and stood on the dripping porches ofcrossroad stores to marvel as the long scream of Rachael's horncut through the night air. Twenty minutes past eight o'clock--eight minutes of nine o'clock. The little villages began to growdark. 

There was nothing to pass on the road; so much was gain. Except inthe villages, and once or twice where a slow, rattling wagon wasplodding along on the wet mirror-like asphalt, Rachael might makeher own speed. The road lay straight, and was an exceptionallygood road, even in this weather. She need hardly pause forsignboards. The rain still fell in sheets. Seventy-two miles togo. 

"How is he, Mary?"

"The same, Mrs. Gregory. Except that he gives a little groan nowand then--when it shakes him!"

"My boy! But not sleeping?" "Oh, no, Mrs. Gregory. He just liesquiet like. "

"God bless him!" Rachael said under her breath. Aloud she said:"Millie, couldn't you lean over, and watch him a few minutes, andsee what you think?"

Then they were flying on again. Rachael began to wonder just howlong the run was. They always carelessly called it "a hundredmiles. " But was it really a hundred and two, or ninety-eight? Whata difference two or three miles would make to-night! She fell intoa nervous shiver; suppose they reached the bridge, and then Maryshould touch her arm. "He doesn't look right, Mrs. Gregory!"Suppose that for the little boy that they finally carried into NewYork there was no longer any hope. Her little Derry--

The child that might have been the joy of a happy home, that mighthave grown to a dignified inheritance of the love and tendernessthat had been between his father and mother. Robbed in hisbabyhood, taken away from the father he adored, and now--this!Sixty-one miles to go. 

"Detour to New York. " The sign, with all its hideous import, rosebefore her suddenly. No help for it; she must lose one or two, perhaps a dozen miles, she must give up the good road for a badone. She must lose her way, too, perhaps. Had Kane gone over thisroad yesterday? It was much farther on that she had spoken toKane. Perhaps he had, but she could not remember, doubt made everyfoot of the way terrible to Rachael. She could only plunge on, over rocks, over bumps, into mud-holes. She could only blindlytake what seemed of two turnings the one most probably right. 

"Oh--Mother!" The little wail came from Derry. Rachael, her heartturned to ice, slowed down--stopped and leaned into the halfdarkness in the back of the car. The child's lovely eyes wereopened. Rachael could barely see his white face. 

"My darling!" she said. 

"Will you not--bump me so, Mother?" the little boy whispered. 

"I will try not to, my heart!" Rachael, wild with terror, lookedto Mary's face. Was he dying, now and here?

"Oh Moth--it hurts so!"

"Does it, my darling?"

He drowsed again. Rachael turned back to her wheel. They must gomore slowly now, at any cost. 

The road was terrible, in parts, after the hours of heavy rain, itseemed almost impassable. Rachael pushed on. Presently they wereback in the main road again, and could make better time. Of thehundred miles only fifty remained. But that meant nothing now. Howmuch time had she lost in that frightful bypath? Rachael's facewas dripping with rain, rain had trickled under her clothing atneck and wrists. Through her raincoat the breast of her gown wassoaking, and her feet ached with the strain of controlling theheavy car. Water came in long runnels through the wind-shield, andstruck her knees; she had turned her dress back, her thin silkpetticoat was soaked, and the muscles of knees and ankles werecold and sore. But she felt these things not at all. Her eyesburned ahead, into the darkness, she heard nothing but theoccasional fluttering moan from Derry; she thought nothing butthat she might be too late--too late--too late!

At the first town of any size she stopped, a telegram to Georgetaking shape in her mind. But the wires here were down, as theyhad been farther down the Island. The rain was thinning, but thewind was rising every second, and as she rushed on she saw that inmany places the lights on the road were out; all the Island laybattered and bruised under the storm. 

Slowly as they seemed to creep, yet the miles were going by. Freeport--Lynbrook--Jamaica--like a woman in a dream she reachedthe bridge and a moment later looked down upon the long belt oflights winking in the rain that was New York. 

And here, on the very apex of the bridge, came the most heart-rending moment of the run, for the little boy began to cough, andfor two or three frightful minutes the women hung over him, speechless with terror, and knowing that at any second theexhausted little body might succumb to the strain. Blindly, aswith a long, choked cry he sank back again, Rachael went back toher wheel. Third Avenue--Fifth Avenue--Forty-second Street toreby; they were running straight down toward Washington Arch as theclocks everywhere struck midnight. The wide street was deserted inthe rain, it shone like a mirror, reflecting long pendants oflight. 

They were turning the corner; she was out of the car, and hadglanced at the familiar old house. Wet, exhausted, fired by apassion that made her feel curiously light and sure, Rachael puther arms about her child, and carried him up the steps. Mary hadpreceded her, the door was opened; a dazed and frightened maid waslooking at her. 

Then she was crossing the familiar hall; lights were in thelibrary, and Warren in the library, somebody with him, but Rachaelonly caught a glimpse of the old familiar attitude: he was sittingin a straight-backed chair, his legs crossed, and one firm handgrasping a silk-clad ankle as he intently listened to whatever wasbeing said. 

"Warren!" she said in a voice that those who heard it rememberedall their lives. "It's Derry! He's hurt--he's dying, I think! Canyou--can you save him?" And with a great burst of tears she gaveup the child. 

"My God--what is it!" said Warren Gregory on his feet, and withDerry in his arms, even as he spoke. For a second the tableauheld: Rachael, agonized, her beautiful face colorless, anddripping with rain, her husband staring at her as if he could notcredit his senses, the child's limp body in his arms, yet notquite freed from hers. In the background were the whitefacedservants and the gray-headed doctor upon whose conversation thenewcomers had so abruptly broken. 

"We've just brought him up from Clark's Hills!" Rachael said. 

"From Clark's Hills--YOU!"

His look, the dear familiar look of solicitude and concern, toreher to the soul. 

"There was nothing else to do!" she faltered. 

"But--you drove up to-night?"

"Since seven. "

He looked at her, and Rachael felt the look sink into her soullike rain into parched land. 

"And you came straight to me!" His voice sank. "Rachael, " he said, "I will save him for you if I can!"

And instantly there began such activities in the old house asperhaps even its dignified century of living had never known. Rachael, hungry through these terrible hours of suspense for justthe wild rush and hurry, watched her husband as if she had neverseen him before. Presently lights blazed from cellar to attic, maids flew in every direction, fires were lighted, the moving ofheavy furniture shook the floors. Derry, the little unconsciouscause of it all, lay quiet, with Mary watching him. 

New York had been asleep; it was awakened now. Motor cars wheeledinto the Gregorys' street; Mrs. Gregory herself answered the door. Here was the nurse, efficient, yet sympathetic, too, with herparaphernalia and her assistants. Yes, she had been able to getit, Doctor Gregory. Yes, Doctor, she had that. Here was the manfrom the drug store--that was all right, Doctor, that was what heexpected, being waked up in the night; thank you, Doctor. And herewas George Valentine, too much absorbed in the business in hand tosay more than an affectionate "Hello" to Rachael. But with Georgewas Alice, white-faced but smiling, and little sleepy Jimmy, whowas to be smuggled immediately into bed. 

"I thought you'd rather have him here, " said Alice. 

Rachael knew why. Rachael knew what doctors said to each other, when they gathered, and used those quick, low monosyllables. Sheknew why Miss Redding was speeding the arrangements for theimprovised operating-room with such desperate hurry. She knew whyone of these assisting doctors was delegated to do nothing but sitbeside Derry, watching the little hurt breast rise and fall, watching the bubble of blood form and break on the swollen mouth. 

Warren had told her to get into dry clothing, and then to take astimulant, and have something to eat. And eager to save him whatshe could, she was warm and dry now. She sat in Derry's room, andpresently, when they came to stand beside him, Warren and George, they found her agonized eyes, bright with questions, facing them. But she knew better than to speak. 

Neither man spoke for a few dreadful moments. Warren looked at thechild without a flicker of change in his impassive look; Georgebit his lip, and almost imperceptibly shook his head. And in theirfaces Rachael read the death of her last faint hope. 

"We don't dare anesthetize him until we know just the lie of thosebroken ribs, " said Warren gravely to his wife, "and yet the littlechap is so exhausted that the strain of trying to touch it may--may be too much for him. There's no time for an X-ray. Some ofthese fellows think it is too great a risk. I believe it may bedone. If there are internal injuries, we can't hope to--" Hepaused. "But otherwise, I believe--"

Again his voice dropped. He stood looking at the little boy witheyes that were not a surgeon's now; all a father's. 

"Good little chap, " he said softly. "Do you remember how he usedto watch Jim, through the bars of his crib, when he was abouteight months old, and laugh as if Jim was the funniest thing inthe world?"

Rachael looked up and nodded with brimming eyes. She could notspeak. 

They carried Derry away, and Rachael followed them up to the headof the stairway outside of the operating-room, and sat there, herhands locked in her lap, her head resting against the wall. Alicedared not join her, she kept her seat by the library fire, andwith one hand pressed tight against her eyes, tried to pray. 

Rachael did not pray. She was unable even to think clearly. Visions drifted through her tired brain, the panorama of the longday and night swept by unceasingly. She was in Eighth Avenueagain, she was in the hot train, with the rain beating against thewindows, and tears running down her hot cheeks. She was enteringthe house--"Where's my boy?" And then she was driving the carthrough that cruel world of water and wind. She would have savedhim if she could! She had done her share. Instantly, unflinchingly, she had torn through blackness and storm; abattered ship beating somehow toward the familiar harbor. Now hemust be saved. Rachael knew that madness would come upon her ifthese hideous hours were only working toward the moment when shewould know that she had been too late. For the rest of her lifeshe would only review them: the Bar, the wet roads, the detour, and the frightful seconds on the bridge. There had been somethingexpiatory, something symbolic in this mad adventure, this flightthrough the night. The fires that had been burning in her heartfor the past terrible hours were purged, she must be changedforevermore after to-night. But for the new birth, Derry must notbe the price! The strain had been too great, the delicatemachinery of her brain would give, she could not take up lifeagain, having lost him--and lost him in this way--

They were torturing him; the child's cry of utter agony reachedher where she sat. It came to her, in a flash, that Warren hadsaid there might be no merciful chloroform. Cold water broke outon her forehead, she covered her ears with her hands, her breathcoming wild and deep. Derry!

"Oh, no--Daddy! Oh, no, Daddy! Oh, Mother--Mother--!"

"Oh, my God! this is not right, " Rachael said half aloud. "Oh, take him, take him, but don't let him suffer so!"

She was writhing as if the suffering were her own. For perhapsfive horrible moments the house rang, then there was suddensilence. 

"Now he is dead, " Rachael said in the same quiet, half-audibletone. "I am glad. He will never know what pain is again. Fiveperfect little years, with never one instant that was not sweetand good. Gerald Fairfax Gregory--five years old. One sees it inthe papers almost every day. But who thinks what it means? Justthe mother, who remembers the first cry, and the little crumpledflannel wrappers, and the little hand crawling up her breast. Hewalked so much sooner than Jim did, but of course he was lighter. And how he would throw things out of windows--the camera that hitthe postman! Oh, my God!"

For the anguished screaming had recommenced, and the child wantedhis mother. 

Rachael bore it for endless, agonizing minutes. Presently Alice, white-faced, was kneeling on the step below her, and their wethands were clasped. 

"Dearest, why do you sit here!"

"Oh, Alice, could I get Warren, do you think? They mustn't--it'stoo cruel! He's only a baby, he doesn't understand! Better athousand times to let him go--tell them so! Get George--tell him Isay so!"

"Rachael, it's terrible, " said Alice, who was crying hard, "b-b-but they must think there is a chance, dear. We couldn't interruptthem now. He would see you--there, he's quiet again. That may beall!"

But it was not the end for many hours. The women on the stairs, and the sobbing maids in the diningroom, hoped and despaired, andgrew faint and sick themselves as the merciless work went on. OnceGeorge came out of the room for a few minutes, with a face flakedwith white, and his surgeon's gown crumpled, wet with water andstained here and there a terrible red. He did not speak to eitherwoman, and in answer to Alice's breath of interrogation merelyshook his head. 

At four o'clock Warren himself came to the door. Rachael sprang toher feet, was close to him in a second. The sight of him, hisgown, his hands, his dreadful face, turned Alice faint, butRachael's voice was steady. 

"What is it?"

"We are nearly done. Nearly done, " Warren said. "I can't tell yet--nobody can. But I must finish it. Do you think you could--hekeeps asking for you. I am sorry to ask you--"

"Hold him?" Rachael's voice of agony said. "Yes, I could do that. I--I have been wanting to!"

"No--there is no necessity for that. He is on the table. But if hecould see you. It is the very end of our work, " he answered. "Itmay be that he can't--you must be ready for that. "

"I am ready, " she said. 

A second later she was in the room with the child. She saw nothingbut Derry, his little body beneath the sheet rigidly strapped tothe table. The group gave place, and Rachael stood beside him. Hisbeautiful baby eyes, wild with terror and agony, found her; shebent over him, and laid her fingers on his wet little forehead. Hewanted his mother to take him away, he had been calling her--hadn't she heard him? Please, please, not to let anyone touch himagain!

Rachael summoned a desperate courage. She spoke to him, she couldeven smile. Did he remember the swing--yes, but he didn't rememberMother bringing him all the way up, so that Daddy and UncleGeorge--

His brave eyes were fixed on hers. He was trying to remember, trying to answer her smile, trying to think of other things thanthe recommencing pain. 

No use. The hoarse, terrible little screams began again. Hislittle hand writhed in hers. 

"Mother--PLEASE--will you make them stop?"

Rachael was breathing deep, her own forehead was wet. She knew thechild's strength was gone. 

"Just a little more, dearest, " she said, white lipped; eyes fullof agonized appeal turned to George. 

"Doctor--" One of the nurses, her hand on his pulse, said softly. George Valentine looked up. 

Rachael's apprehensive glance questioned them both. But WarrenGregory did not falter, did not even glance away from his ownhands. 

Then it was over. The tension in the room broke suddenly, theatmosphere changed, although there was not an audible breath. Thenurses moved swiftly and surely, needing no instructions. Georgelifted Derry's little hand from Rachael's, and put one arm abouther. Warren put down his instrument, and bent, his face a mask ofanxiety, over the child. Derry was breathing--no more. But on thebloodless face that Warren raised there was the light of hope. 

"I believe he will make it, George, " he said. "I think we havesaved him for you, Rachael! No--no--leave him where he is, MissMoore. Get a flat pillow under his head if you can. Cover him up. I'm going to stay here. "

"Wouldn't he be more comfortable in his bed?" Rachael's shakenvoice asked in a low tone. She was conscious only that she mustnot faint now. 

"He would be, of course. But it may be just by that fraction ofenergy that he is hanging on. Brave little chap, he has beenhelping us just as if he knew--"

But this Rachael could not endure. Her whole body shook, the roomrocked before her eyes. She had strength to reach the hall, sawAlice standing white and tense, at the top of the stairs--then itwas all darkness. 

It seemed hours later, though it was only minutes, that Rachaelcame dreamily to consciousness in her own old room, on her ownbed. Her idly moving eyes found the shaded lamp, found Alicesitting beside her. Alice's hand lay over her own. For a long timethey did not speak. 

A perfect circle of shadow was flung on the high ceiling from thelamp. Outside of the shadow were the familiar window draperies, the white mantel with its old candlesticks, the exquisite crayonportrait of Jim at three, and Derry a delicious eighteen-months-old. There was the white bowl that had always been filled withviolets, empty now. And there were the low bookcases where a fewspecial favorites were kept, and the quaint old mahogany sewing-table that had been old Mrs. Gregory's as a bride. 

Rachael was exhausted in every fibre of body and soul, consecutivethought was impossible now; her aching head defied the effort, butlying here, in this dim light, there came to her a vision of theyears that might be. If she were ever rested again, if littleDerry were again his sunny, resolute self, if Warren and she werereunited, then what an ideal of fine and simple and unselfishliving would be hers! How she would cling to honor and truth andgoodness, how she would fortify herself against the pitfalls dugby her own impulsiveness. She and Warren had everything in lifeworth while, it was not for them to throw their gifts away. Theirhome should be the source of help to other homes, their sonsshould some day go out into the world equipped with wisdom, disciplined and self-controlled, ready to meet life far morebravely than ever their mother had. 

There was a low voice at her door. Alice was gone, and Warren waskneeling beside her. And as she laid one tired arm about his neck, in the dear familiar fashion of the past, and as their eyes met, Rachael felt that all her life had been a preparation for thisexquisite minute. 

"I thought you would like to know that he is sleeping, and we havemoved him, " Warren said. "In three days you will have him roaringto get up. "

Tears brimmed Rachael's eyes. 

"You saved him, " she whispered. 

"YOU saved him; George says so, too. If that fellow down there hadgiven him chloroform, there would have been no chance. Our onlyhope was to relieve that pressure on his heart, and take the riskof it being too much for him. He's as strong as a bull. But it wasa fight! And no one but a woman would have rushed him up here inthe rain. "

Rachael's eyes were streaming. She could not speak. She clung toher husband's hand for a moment or two of silence. 

"And now, I want to speak to you, " Warren said, ending it. "I havenothing to say in excuse. I know--I shall know all my life, what Ihave done. It is like a bad dream. "

His uncertain voice stopped. Husband and wife looked full at eachother, both breathing quickly, both faces drawn and tense. 

"But, Rachael, " Warren went on, "I think, if you knew how I havesuffered, that you would--that some day, you would forgive me. Iwas never happy. Never anything but troubled and excited andconfused. But for the last few months, in this empty house, seeingother men with their wives, and thinking what a wife you were--Ithas been like finding my sight--like coming out of a fever--" Hepaused. Rachael did not speak. 

"I know what I deserve at your hands, " Warren said. "Nobody--nobody--not old George, not anyone--can think of me with thecontempt and the detestation with which I think of myself! It haschanged me. I will never--I can never, hold up my head again. But, Rachael, you loved me once, and I made you happy--you've notforgotten that! Give me another chance. Let me show you how I loveyou, how bitterly sorry I am that I ever caused you one moment ofpain! Don't leave me alone. Don't let me feel that between you andme, as the years go by, there is going to be a widening gulf. Youdon't know what the loneliness means to me! You don't know how Imiss my wife every time I sit down to dinner, every time I climbinto the car. I think of the years to come--of what they mighthave been, of what they will be without you! And I can't bear it. Why, to go down with you and the boys to Clark's Hills, to tellyou about my work, to take you to dinner again--my God! it seemsto me like Heaven now, and I look back a few years, when it wasall mine, and wonder if I have been sane, wonder if too much work, and all the other responsibilities, of the boys, and Mother'sdeath, and the estate, and poor little Charlie, whether I reallywasn't a little twisted mentally!"

Rachael tightened her arms about his neck, pressed her wet face tohis. 

"Sweetheart, " said her wonderful voice, a mere tired essence of avoice now, "if there is anything to forgive, I am so glad toforgive it! You are mine, and I am yours. Please God we will neverbe parted again!"

And then for a long time there was silence in the room, whilehusband and wife clung together, and the hurt of the long monthswas cured, and dissolved, and gone forever. What Warren felt, Rachael could only know from his tears, and his passionate kisses, and the grip of his arms. For herself, she felt that she mightgladly die, being so held against his heart, feeling through herentire being the rising flood of satisfied love that is life andbreath to such a nature as hers. 

"I am changed, " said Warren after long moments; "you will see it, for I see it myself. I can see now what my mother meant, yearsago, when she talked to me about myself. And I am older, Rachael. "

"I am not younger, " Rachael said, smiling. "And I think I amchanged, too. All the pressure, all the nervous worry of the lastfew years, seem to be gone. Washed away, perhaps, by tears--therehave been tears enough! But somehow--somehow I am confident, Warren, as I never was before, that happiness is ahead. Somehow Ifeel sure that you and I have won to happiness, now, won tosureness. With each other, and the boys, and books and music, andHome Dunes, the years to come seem all bright. After all, we areyoung to have learned how to live!"

And again she drew his face down to hers. 

Alice did not come back again, but Mary came in with a cup ofsmoking soup. Mrs. Valentine had taken the doctor home, but theywould be back later on. It was after six, and Doctor Gregory saidMrs. Gregory was to drink this, and try to get some sleep. Butfirst Mary and Rachael must talk over the terrible and wonderfulnight, and Rachael must creep down the hall, to smile at thenurse, who sat by the heavily sleeping Derry. 

Then she slept, for hours and hours, while the winter sun smileddown on the bare trees in the square and women in furs and babiesin woolens walked and chattered on the leaf-strewn paths. 

Such a sleep and such a waking are memorable in a lifetime. Rachael woke, smiling and refreshed, in a radiant world. Afternoonsunshine was streaming in at her windows, she felt rested, deliciously ready for life again. 

To bathe, to dress with the chatting Jimmy tying strings to herdressing-table, to have the maids quietly and cheerfully comingand going in the old way; this in itself was delight. But when shetiptoed into Derry's room, and found hope and confidence there, found the blue eyes wide open, under the bandage, and heard theenchanting little voice announce, "I had hot milk, Mother, "Rachael felt that her cup of joy was brimming. 

He had fallen out of the swing, Derry told her, and Dad had hurtedhim, and Jimmy added sensationally that Derry had broken his leg!

"But just the same, we wanted our Daddy the moment we woke up thismorning, " Miss Moore smiled, "and we managed to hold up one arm towelcome him, and it was Daddy that held the glass of milk, wasn'tit, Gerald?"

"She calls me Gerald because she doesn't know me very well, " saidDerry in a tactful aside, and Rachael, not daring to laugh forfear of beginning to cry, could only kiss the brown hand, anddevour, with tear-dazzled eyes, the eager face. 

Then she and Jimmy went down to have a meal that was likebreakfast and luncheon and tea in one, with Warren. And toRachael, thinking of all their happy meals together, sincehoneymoon days, this seemed the best of all. The afternoon lightin the breakfast-room, the maids so poorly concealing theirdelight in this turn of events, little Jim so pleased at finding ameal served at this unusual hour, and his parents seeminglydisposed to let him eat anything and everything, and Warren, tired--so strangely gray--and yet utterly content and at peace;these made the hour memorably happy; a forerunner of other happyhours to come. 

"It seems to me that there never was such a bright sunshine, andnever such a nice little third person, and never such coffee, andsuch happiness!" said Rachael, her eyes reflecting something ofthe placid winter day; soul and body wrapped in peace. "Yesterday--only yesterday, I was wretched beyond all believing! To-day Ithink I have had the best hours of my life!"

"It is always going to be this way for you, Rachael, " her husbandsaid, "my life is going to be one long effort to keep youabsolutely happy. You will never grieve on my account again!"

"Say rather, " she said seriously, "that we know each other, andourselves, now. Say that I will never demand utter perfection ofyou, or you of me. But, Warren--Warren--as long as we love eachother--"

He had come around the table to her side, and was kneeling withhis arms about her, and Rachael locked her hands about his neck. He was tired, he had had no sleep after the difficult night, andhe seemed to her strangely broken, strangely her own. Rachael feltthat he had never been so infinitely dear, so much hers to protectand save. The wonder of marriage came to her, the miracle of loverooted too deep for disturbance, of love fed on faults as well asvirtues; so light a tie in the beginning, so powerful a bond asthe years go by. 

"As long as we love each other!" she said, smiling through tears, her eyes piercing him to the very soul. 

He did not speak, and so for a moment they remained motionless, looking at each other. But when she released him, with one of herquick, shy kisses, he knew that the heart of Rachael wassatisfied.