The Heart of Rachael

As a matter of fact, Rachael thought about him very often during

the course of the next two or three days, and after he had left

her that night she could think of nothing else. To the admiration

of men she was cheerfully accustomed; perhaps it would be safe to

say that not in the course of the past ten years had she ever

found herself alone in a man's company without evoking a more or

less 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 was

reputedly a coldblooded man, for another; and for a third, he had

been extraordinarily in earnest. There had been no hesitation, he

had committed himself wholeheartedly. She was conscious of a

pleasurable 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 with

the situation. It was at least a new thought, and life had run in

a groove for a long, long time. Granted the preliminaries safely

managed, it would be a great triumph for the woman whom Clarence

Breckenridge had ignored to come back into this group as Warren

Gregory's wife.

Rachael got into bed, flinging two or three books down beside her

pillow and lighting the shaded lamp that stood at the bedside. She

found 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 I

really did remarry? But the worst of it is"--and Rachael reaching

for The Way of All Flesh sighed wearily--"the worst of it is that

one never DOES carry out plans, or I never do, any more. I used

to feel equal to any situation, now I don't--getting old, perhaps.

I wonder"--she stared dreamily at the soft shadows in the big

room--"I wonder if things are as queer to most people as they are

to me? I don't get much joy out of life, as it is, and yet I don't

DARE cut loose and go away. No maid, no club, living at some cheap

hotel--no, I couldn't do that! I wish there was someone who could

advise me--some disinterested person, someone who--well, who loved

me, and who knew that I've always tried to be decent, always tried

to play the game. All I want is to be reasonably well treated; to

have a good time and be among pleasant people--"

Her thoughts wandered about among the various friends whose

judgment might serve at this crisis to clear her own thoughts and

simplify the road before her. Strangely enough, Warren Gregory's

own mother was the first of whom she thought; that pure and

austere 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 Rachael

dismissed her with a little shudder, as from the spatter of icy

water against her bared breast. The bishop? Rachael and Clarence

duly kept a pew in one of the city's fashionable churches; it was

the Breckenridge family pew, rented by the family for a hundred

years. But they never sat in it, although Rachael felt vaguely

sometimes that for reasons undefined they should, and Clarence was

apt in moments of sentiment to reproach his wife with the

statement that his grandmother had been a faithful church woman,

and his mother had always attended church on pleasant mornings in

winter.