“Thank you, Ethel; I guess I’ll live through the ordeal,” said Grace from her dressing table where she had seated herself to administer the final touches to her toilet. Zealous to be of service, Ethel and her mother watched her attentively, offering suggestions to which Grace in her absorption murmured replies or ignored. Ethel brought from her room a prized lace-bordered handkerchief which she insisted that Grace should carry. Her generosity was spoiled somewhat by the self-sacrificing air with which it was tendered. To help others was really the great joy of life, Ethel quoted Haley as saying, adding that she constantly marveled at Osgood’s clear vision of the true way of life. Grace accepted the handkerchief, with difficulty concealing a smile at the change in Ethel wrought by Haley’s talk.
The car Miss Reynolds had sent was at the door and Mrs. Durland and Ethel went down to see Grace off. They gave her a final looking over before helping her into her coat. The veil she had drawn over her head required readjustment; it was a serious question whether there was not an infinitesimal spot on one of her slippers.
“Oh, they’ve got to take me as I am!” said Grace, finally. “There isn’t time to dress all over again.”
“I’ll wait up for you, dear,” said Mrs. Durland. “I’ll be anxious to know all about the dinner.”
Grace was again torn by doubts as the car bore her swiftly toward Miss Reynolds’s. She tried to convince herself that she was not in the least interested in Mrs. Trenton; that she was no more concerned with her than she would have been with any other woman she might meet in the house of a friend. But these attempts to minimize her curiosity as to Trenton’s wife failed miserably. It was impossible to think of the meeting with her lover’s wife as a trifling incident. The newspaper portraits of Mrs. Trenton rose vividly before her and added to her discomfort. She feared that she might in some way betray herself. When the car stopped she felt strongly impelled to postpone her entrance in the hope of quieting herself by walking round the block; but to be late to a dinner was, she knew, an unpardonable sin. Summoning all her courage she ran up the walk to the door, which opened before she could ring.
“First room to the right upstairs,” said the colored butler.
The white maid helped her off with her wrap and stood by watching her with frank admiration as she surveyed herself before a long mirror. In Grace’s perturbed state of mind the presence of the girl was a comfort.
“Do I look all right?” she asked.
“You look lovely, Miss; just like a beautiful picture.”
“Oh, thank you!” said Grace, smiling gratefully into the girl’s eyes. “Am I very late?”