"No, you didn't mean anything, Greg, nobody means anything! Nobody is anything but sorry for me: you, Billy, Elinor, the woman who expected us at dinner to-night, the servants at the club!" she said hotly. "Nobody blames me, and yet every one wonders how it happens! Nobody thinks it anything but a little amusing, a little shocking. I am to write the notes, and make the excuses, and be shamed--and shamed--shamed--"
Her voice broke. She rose to her feet, and rested an elbow on the mantel, and stared moodily at the fire. There was a silence.
"Rachael, I'm sorry!" Gregory said presently, impulsively.
Instantly her April smile rewarded him.
"I know you are, Greg!" she answered gratefully. "And I know," she added, in a low tone, "that you are one of the persons who will understand--when I end it all!"
"End it all!" he echoed sharply.
"Not suicide," she reassured him smilingly. She flung herself back in her chair again, holding her white hand, with its ring, between her face and the fire. "No," she said thoughtfully, "I mean divorce."
There eyes met; both were pale, serious.
"Divorce!" he echoed, after a pause. "I never thought of it--for you!"
"I haven't thought of it myself, much," Rachael admitted, with a troubled smile.