"I started the girlies off to eight o'clock service," she said

capably. "Fraulien went with them, and that leaves the maids free

to go when they please." This was one of Mrs. Haviland's favorite

illusions. "Gardner begged off this morning, he's been so good

about going lately that I couldn't very well refuse, so I started

early 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 you

know, and Gardner's been terribly tied. He left yesterday, thank

goodness. Clarence went of course? Oh, dear, dear, dear!"

The last three words came on a gentle sigh. Clarence's sister

compressed her lips and shook her handsome head.

"Is he very bad?" she asked reluctantly.

"Pretty much as usual," Rachael answered philosophically. "I had

Greg in." And suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt a quick happy

flutter at her heart, and a roseate mist drifted before her eyes.

"It's disgraceful!" Mrs. Haviland said, eying Rachael hopefully

for a wifely denial. As this was not forthcoming, she went on

briskly: "However, my dear, Clarence isn't the only one! They say

Fred Bowditch is actually"--her voice sank to a discreet undertone

as she added the word--"violent; and poor Lucy Pickering needed a

rest cure the moment she got her divorce, she was in such a

nervous 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 along

on a tide of words, stopped, a little at a loss. "I hope I don't

have to defend your own husband to you, Rachael," she said

reproachfully.

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

Mrs. Haviland watched the downcast beautiful face opposite her

with a sense of growing alarm.

"My dear," she said impressively, "of course it's hard for you; we

all know that. But just at this time, Rachael, it would be

absolutely FATAL to have any open break with Clarence--"

Rachael flung up her head impatiently, then dropped her face in

her 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," repeated

Mrs. Haviland significantly, "and Joe Pickering."

Rachael raised sombre eyes, but did not speak.

"Is Carol here?" her aunt asked delicately.

"Dressing," Rachael answered briefly.




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