In March the Gregorys sent out cards for their first really large
entertainment, a Mardi-Gras ball. Rachael and Warren spent many
happy hours planning it: the studio was to be cleared, two other
big rooms turned into one for the supper, music for dancing,
musical numbers for the entertainment; it would be perfect in
every detail, one of the notable affairs of the winter. Rachael
hailed it as the end of the season. They were to make a flying
trip to the Bermudas in April, and after that Rachael happily
planned a month or two in the almost deserted city before Warren
would be free to get away to the mountains or the boat. It was
with a delightful sense of freedom that she realized that her
first winter in her new role was nearly over. Next winter her
divorce and remarriage would be an old story, there would be other
gossip more fascinating and more new, she would be taken quite for
granted. Again, she might more easily evade the social demand next
winter without exposing herself to the charge of being fickle or
changed. This year her brave and dignified facing of the world had
been a part of the price she paid for her new happiness. Now it
was paid.

And for another reason, half-defined, Rachael was glad to see the
months go by. She had been Warren Gregory's wife for nearly six
months now, and the rapture of being together was still as great
for them both as it had been in the first radiant days of their
marriage. For herself, indeed, she knew that the joy was
constantly deepening, and even the wild hunger and passion of her
heart could find no flaw in his devotion. Her surrender to him was
with a glorious and unashamed completeness, the tones of her
extraordinary voice deepened when she spoke to him, and in her