quantity was there in all its gold glory.

Rachael, magnificent in black-and-white, was ashamed of herself
for the instinctive antagonism that she began to feel toward this
young creature. It was not the fact of Magsie's undeniable youth
and beauty that she resented, but it was her affectations, her
full, pouting lips, her dimples, her reproachful upward glances.
Even these, perhaps, in themselves, she did not resent, she mused;
it was their instant effect upon Warren and, to a greater or
lesser degree, upon all the other men present, that filled her
with a sort of patient scorn. Rachael wondered what Warren's
feeling would have been had his wife suddenly picked out some
callow youth still in college for her admiring laughter and
earnest consideration.

It was sacrilege to think it. It was always absurd, an older man's
kindly interest in, and affection for, a pretty young girl, but
what harm? He thought her beautiful, and charming, and talented-
well, she was those things. It was January now, in March they were
going to California, then would come dear Home Dunes, and before
the summer was over Magsie would be safely launched, or married,
and the whole thing but an episode! Warren was her husband and the
father of her two splendid boys; there was tremendous reassurance
in the thought.

But that evening, and throughout the weeks that followed, Rachael
mused somewhat sadly upon the extraordinary susceptibility of the
human male. Magsie's methods were those of a high-school belle.
She pouted, she dimpled, she dispensed babyish slaps, she lapsed
into rather poorly imitated baby talk. She was sometimes