"Listen, Bill," she said, and paused. Billy eyed her curiously. Obtuse as she was, a certain change in Rachael had not entirely escaped the younger woman.
"Well?" she asked, on guard.
"Well--" Rachael faltered. Motherly advice was not much in her line. "It's just this, Bill," she resumed slowly, "when you think of marriage, don't think of just a few weeks or a few months; think of all the time. Think of other things than just--that sort of--love. Children, you know, and--and books, don't you know? Things that count. Be--I don't say be guided entirely by what your father and lots of other persons think, but be influenced by it! Realize that we have no motive but--but affection, in advising you to be sure."
The stumbling, uncertain words were unlike Mrs. Breckenridge's usual certain flow of reasoning. But in spite of this, or because of it, Billy was somewhat impressed.
"I had an aunt in California," Rachael continued, "who cried, and got whipped and locked up, and all the rest of it, and she carried her point. But she was unhappy. ..."
"You mean because Joe is divorced?" Billy asked in a somewhat troubled voice.
The scarlet rushed to Rachael's face.
"N--not entirely," she answered in some confusion.
"That is, you don't think divorced people ought to remarry, even if the divorce is fair enough?" Billy pursued, determined to be clear.
"Well, I suppose every case is different, Bill."