"Rachael's terribly decent about it," said the deep voice of old
Mrs. Torrence, who was chaperoning a grandson, glad of any excuse
to be at the club. "Upon my word I wouldn't be! She will breakfast
upstairs many a morning because Clarence likes Carol to pour his
coffee. And when that feller comes home tipsy--"

"Five nights a week!" supplemented Peter Pomeroy.

"Five nights a week," the old lady agreed, nodding, "she makes him
comfortable, quiets the house, and telephones around generally
that Clarence has come home with a splitting headache, and they
can't come--to dinner, or cards, or whatever it may be. But of
course I don't claim that she loves him, nor pretends to. I can
imagine the scornful look with which she goes about it."

"Well, why does she stand it?" said Mrs. Barker Emory, a handsome
but somewhat hard-faced woman, with a manner curiously compounded
of eagerness and uncertainty.

"Y'know, that's what I've been wondering," an Englishman added
interestedly.

"Why, what else would she do?" Miss Vanderwall asked briskly.

"Rachael's a perfectly adorable and brilliant and delightful
creature," summarized Peter Pomeroy, "but she's not got a penny
nor a relative in the world that I've ever heard of! She's got no
grounds for divorcing Clarence, and if she simply wanted to get
out, why, now that she's brought Billy up, introduced her