"I understood Vivian WAS here," said Rachael, flushing darkly. "Let me see--the next morning--where was I? Oh, yes, it was your luncheon, and Billy had gone out for some tennis when I came downstairs. I supposed of course--but I didn't ask. I DID ask Helda what time she had let the gentleman out and she said before eleven--not much after half-past ten, in fact."
"You see, we mustn't go on suppositions and halftruths any more," said Mrs. Haviland in delicate reproach. "When we have that wonderful and delicate thing, a girl's soul, to deal with, we must be SURE."
"I suppose I'd better tell Clarence that--about Wednesday night," Rachael said, downing with some effort an impulse to ask Florence not to be so smug.
"Well, I think you had," the other agreed, with visible relief.
"As for me," Mrs. Breckenridge said, nettled by her sister-in-law's attitude, and mischievously interested in the effect of her thunderbolt, "I'm just desperately tired of it. I can't see that I'm doing Clarence, or Billy, or myself, any good! I'd like to resign, and let somebody else try for a while!"
Steel leaped into Mrs. Haviland's light-blue eyes. She felt the shock in every fibre of body and soul, but she flung herself gallantly into the charge. Her large form straightened, her expression achieved a certain remoteness.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked sharply.
"The usual thing, I suppose," Rachael answered indifferently.
The older woman, watching her closely, essayed a brief, dry laugh.
"Don't talk absurdities," she said boldly. But Rachael saw the uneasiness under the assured manner, and smiled to herself.