"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.