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Updated: May 3, 2025
Barker Emory had been much taken up by Mary Moulton, and was a recognized leader at Belvedere Bay now; Straker Thomas was in a sanitarium; old Lady Torrence was dead; Marian Cowles had snatched George Pomeroy away from one of the Vanderwall girls at the last second; Thomas Prince was paralyzed; Agnes Chase had married a Denver man whom nobody knew; the Parker Hoyts had a delicate little baby at last; Vivian Sartoris had left her husband, nobody knew why.
He told Alfred that he was dining in town, with a friend, talking business." "I thought it was the night of Berry Stokes' dinner," suggested Miss Vanderwall. "He wasn't there I asked him not to go," said Billy. "Oh " Miss Vanderwall began and then abruptly stopped. "Oh!" said she mildly, in polite acquiescence.
"Well, Rachael's a cold woman, and a hard woman in a way," Miss Vanderwall said musingly, after a pause, when the troubles of the Breckenridges kept the group silent for a moment. "But she's a good sport. She gets a home, and clothes, and the club, and a car and all the rest out of it, and she knows Billy and Clarence do need her, in a way, to run things, and to keep up the social end.
"She doesn't care for her enough to see that there's fair play," Elinor Vanderwall said quickly. "Why doesn't she take a leaf from Paula's book," somebody suggested, "and marry again? She could go out West and get a divorce on any grounds she might choose to name."
"Let her alone, Fascination Fledgerby!" said Mrs. Breckenridge briskly. "Why can't we take you home with us, Elinor? We go your way." "You may," said Miss Vanderwall, rising. "You're dining at the Chases', aren't you, Billy? So am I. But I was going to change here. Where are you dining, Rachael?" "Change at my house," Mrs. Breckenridge suggested, or rather commanded.
"Well, why does she stand it?" said Mrs. Barker Emory, a handsome but somewhat hard-faced woman, with a manner curiously compounded of eagerness and uncertainty. "Y'know, that's what I've been wondering," an Englishman added interestedly. "Why, what else would she do?" Miss Vanderwall asked briskly.
He and Frank Whittaker were drinking cocktails; the others Jeanette Vanderwall, Vera Villalonga, a flushed, excitable woman older than Rachael, and Jimmy and Estelle Hoyt had refused the drink, but were adding much noise and laughter to the newcomer's welcome. "Hello, Clarence" Rachael said, appraising the situation rapidly as she came up.
Her uninterested voice dropped into silence. "Men are queer," Miss Vanderwall said profoundly, busy with ivory- backed brushes, powders, and pastes. "The mystery to me about men," mused Mrs.
She was tired, and her thoughts floated lazily about nothing at all, or into some opaque region of their own knowing, where the ills of the body might not follow. Presently Miss Vanderwall, clothed in a trailing robe of soft Arabian cotton, came briskly out of the bathroom, her short dark hair hanging in a mane about her rosy face.
Indeed she had drifted into a low-toned conversation with a young man on the fender. Elinor Vanderwall was neither pretty nor rich, and she was unmarried at thirty-four, her social importance being further lessened by the fact that she had five sisters, all unmarried, too, except Anna, the oldest, whose son was in college. Anna was Mrs. Prince; her wedding was only a long-ago memory now.
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