There were no instructions against admitting Lorraine, so Tompkins could do nothing but bow him into the living-room. Then he went slowly up to the library and gave the card to Mrs. Lorraine.
She took it from the tray, wondering as she did so who was calling on her, and read the name—and read it again. Then she frowned slightly and remained silent.
The butler stood at attention and waited—waited so long, indeed, that Mrs. Mourraille glanced up from her evening paper, having observed the whole thing, and inquired casually:
"Who is it, Stephanie?"
Her daughter passed the bit of pasteboard across—then nodded to Tompkins that she would be down.
Mrs. Mourraille's heart gave a great bound—if, in so placid a woman, anything ever could bound—when she read the name. The thing for which she had hoped—for which she had prayed—for two years was that Stephanie would make it up with her husband, and go back to him. It was the better way—the way that made everything as nearly right as was humanly possible—the easier way for everyone. If he overlooked her fault, who else had any cause to cavil? She had been much too wise, however, to urge it unasked. It must come voluntarily from Stephanie—then she could add her counsel and encouragement. But better even than Stephanie was Lorraine himself—and what else could his unexpected coming mean than an overture for a reconciliation!
"You will receive him?" she asked quietly.
Stephanie nodded.
"I suppose," she said, "it is some arrangement about the divorce—but I can't understand why he should come in person to make it."
"Perhaps it is a first step in an attempt to effect a—readjustment of matters," her mother suggested.