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That was all permissible; regrettable perhaps for Warren's wife, an unmistakable calamity for Warren's boys, but, from Magsie's standpoint, comprehensible and acceptable. If Warren were free, Magsie was well within her rights; if he were not, Rachael was the last woman in the world to dispute it. After a while Rachael began to move mechanically about the room.
"Don't be so absurd, Rachael, half the men in our set drink as much as Clarence does. Don't jump from the frying-pan into the fire. Remember Elsie Rowland and Marian Cowles when you talk so lightly of divorce!" That would be Florence's probable attitude. Still, it was a bracing attitude, heartily positive, like everything Florence did and said.
Rachael felt more like herself after the first night's sleep on the breezy porch, the first invigorating dip in the ocean. She began to enjoy her meals again, she began to look carefully to her appearance. Presently she was laughing, singing, bubbling with life and energy. Alice, watching her, rejoiced and marvelled at her recovery.
Oh! mamma, I feel for you so much. Indeed, you look more unhappy than I am; but it is hard." "Hush, dear! That is your father's voice." "Yes, how low and cutting. I cannot stand it. He is coming this way. I will go to my room." For the first time in her life, Lady Clara shrank from meeting her father. "Do not leave me yet," said Rachael, passing swiftly toward the window. "They are together still.
As a matter of fact, Alice knew it was not for work that he stayed, for George, the least critical of friends, had once or twice told her of yachting parties in which Warren had participated men's parties, of which Rachael perhaps might not have disapproved, but of which Rachael certainly did not know.
There was no break in the flying darkness above them; the street was a running sheet of water in the dark. Yet strangely they all went back into the house vaguely quieted. Rachael presently said that no matter what was going to happen, she was too cold and tired to stay up any longer, and went upstairs to bed.
They had been great friends when Warren was with his mother in Paris, nearly four years ago, and now they fell into an animated recollection of some of their experiences there with the two old ladies. While they talked Rachael watched Magsie Clay with admiration and surprise.
Rachael entered with great zest into the delayed matter of redecorating and refurnishing the old home on Washington Square, finding the dignified house Warren's birthplace more and more to her liking as modern enamel fixtures went into the bathrooms, simple modern hangings let sunshine and air in at the long-darkened windows, and rich tapestry papers and Oriental rugs subdued the effect of severe cream woodwork and colonial mantels.
Thou hast been that to me, Rachael, through so many year: thou hast done me so much good, and heartened of me in that cheering way, that thy word is a law to me. Ah, lass, and a bright good law! Better than some real ones. 'Never fret about them, Stephen, she answered quickly, and not without an anxious glance at his face. 'Let the laws be. 'Yes, he said, with a slow nod or two. 'Let 'em be.
Martin was at the wheel, Warren buttoned to the neck in a gray coat, his hat well down over his eyes, alone in the back seat. He was staring steadily, yet with unseeing eyes, before him, and Rachael felt a sense of almost sickening shock at the sight of his altered face.
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