"Well, what would YOU do?"

"Well. I'd"--Miss Vanderwall arrested the hand with which she was

carefully spreading her lips with red paste, to fling it, with a

large gesture, into the air--"I'd--why don't you GET OUT? Simply

drop it all?" she asked.

"For several reasons," the other woman returned promptly with a

sort of hard, bright pride. "One very excellent one is that I

haven't one penny. But I tell you, Elinor, if I knew how to put my

hand on about a thousand dollars a year--there are little towns in

France, I have friends in London--well"--and with a sudden

straightening of her whole body Rachael Breckenridge visibly

rallied 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 things

between Clarence and Rachael must be getting serious indeed.

She admired Mrs. Breckenridge deeply; more than that, the younger

woman's friendship and patronage were valuable assets to Miss

Vanderwall. But the social circle of Belvedere Hills was a small

circle, and Elinor had spent every one of her thirty-five summers,

or a part of every one, in just this limited group. There was

little malice in her pleasure at getting this glimpse behind the

scenes in Rachael's life; she would repeat her friend's

confidence, later, with the calm of a person doing the accepted

and expected thing, with the complacence of one who proves her

right to other revelations from her listeners in turn. It was by

such proof judiciously displayed that Elinor held her place in the

front ranks of her own select little group of gossips and

intimates. She wished the Breckenridges no harm, but if there were

dark elements in their lives, Elinor enjoyed being the person to

witness them. Thoughtfully adding a bloom to her cheeks with her

friend's exquisite powder, Miss Vanderwall reflected sagely that,

when one came to think of it, it must really be rather rotten to

be married to Clarence Breckenridge.

Rachael presently came back, with the signs of her recent emotion

entirely effaced, and her wonderful skin glowing faintly from a

bath. Superbly independent of cosmetics, independent even of her

mirror, she massed the thick short lengths of dark hair on the top

of her head, thrust a jewelled pin through the coil, and began to

hook herself into a lacy black evening gown that was loose and

comfortable. Before this was finished her stepdaughter rapped on

the door, and being invited, came in with the full self-

consciousness of seventeen.

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

well."




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