"Well. I'd"--Miss Vanderwall arrested the hand with which she was
carefully spreading her lips with red paste, to fling it, with a
large gesture, into the air--"I'd--why don't you GET OUT? Simply
drop it all?" she asked.

"For several reasons," the other woman returned promptly with a
sort of hard, bright pride. "One very excellent one is that I
haven't one penny. But I tell you, Elinor, if I knew how to put my
hand on about a thousand dollars a year--there are little towns in
France, I have friends in London--well"--and with a sudden
straightening of her whole body Rachael Breckenridge visibly
rallied herself--"well, what's the use of talking?" she said. But,
as she rose abruptly, Elinor saw the glint of tears on her lashes,
and said to herself with a sort of pleased terror that things
between Clarence and Rachael must be getting serious indeed.

She admired Mrs. Breckenridge deeply; more than that, the younger
woman's friendship and patronage were valuable assets to Miss
Vanderwall. But the social circle of Belvedere Hills was a small
circle, and Elinor had spent every one of her thirty-five summers,
or a part of every one, in just this limited group. There was
little malice in her pleasure at getting this glimpse behind the
scenes in Rachael's life; she would repeat her friend's
confidence, later, with the calm of a person doing the accepted
and expected thing, with the complacence of one who proves her
right to other revelations from her listeners in turn. It was by
such proof judiciously displayed that Elinor held her place in the
front ranks of her own select little group of gossips and
intimates. She wished the Breckenridges no harm, but if there were