Suddenly she straightened herself in her chair, and opened her

eyes widely. He saw her lovely breast, under its filmy black

chiffon, rise stormily. Her voice was rich with protest.

"No, you didn't mean anything, Greg, nobody means anything! Nobody

is anything but sorry for me: you, Billy, Elinor, the woman who

expected us at dinner to-night, the servants at the club!" she

said hotly. "Nobody blames me, and yet every one wonders how it

happens! Nobody thinks it anything but a little amusing, a little

shocking. I am to write the notes, and make the excuses, and be

shamed--and shamed--shamed--"

Her voice broke. She rose to her feet, and rested an elbow on the

mantel, 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," she

added, in a low tone, "that you are one of the persons who will

understand--when I end it all!"

"End it all!" he echoed sharply.

"Not suicide," she reassured him smilingly. She flung herself back

in her chair again, holding her white hand, with its ring, between

her face and the fire. "No," she said thoughtfully, "I mean

divorce."

There eyes met; both were pale, serious.

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

you!"

"I haven't thought of it myself, much," Rachael admitted, with a

troubled smile.

As a matter of fact she had thought of it, since the early days of

her marriage, but never as an actual possibility. She had

preferred bondage and social position to freedom and the

uncomfortable status of the divorced woman. She realized now that

she might think of it in a slightly different way. She had been a

penniless nobody seven years ago; she was a personage now. The

mere fact that he was a Breckenridge would win some sympathy for

Clarence, but she would have her faction, too.

More than that, she would never be younger, never handsomer, never

better 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'm

capable 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 and

jewels and gowns!" Rachael answered musingly. She stared sombrely

at the fire, and there was a moment's silence.

Suddenly her mood changed. She smiled, and locking her hands

together, as she leaned far forward in her chair, she looked

straight into his eyes.




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