went to the seaside with an efficient relative called Ethel, and
Ethel's five children. Later, back in London, Gerald said, in his
daughter's hearing, that he had made "rather a good thing of that
little game of Bobbie's. Enough to tide us over--what? Especially
if the Dickies ask us down for a bit," he had added. The Dickies
did ask them down for a bit. They went other places. Gerald made a
little money on the races, made "a good thing" of this, and
"turned a bit over on that." Weeks made months and months years,
and still they drifted cheerfully about, Gerald happier than he
had ever been in exile, Clara fearful, admiring, ill at ease,
Rachael in a girl's paradise.

She grew beautiful, with a fine and distinguished beauty definite
in its appeal; before she was seven-teen she had her little
reputation for it; she moved easily into a circle higher than even
her father had ever known. She was witty, young, lovely, and in
this happier atmosphere her natural gayety and generosity might
well develop. She went about continually, and every year the
circle of her friends was widened by more distinguished names.

At seventeen Mrs. Gouveneur Pomeroy of New York brought the young
beauty back with her own daughter, Persis, for a winter in the
great American city, and when Persis died Rachael indeed became
almost as dear to the stricken parents. When she went back to
London they gave her not only gifts but money, and for two years
she returned to them for long visits. So America had a chance to
admire the ravishing Miss Fairfax, too, and Rachael had many
conquests and one or two serious affairs. The girls had their
first dances at the Belvedere Club; Rachael met them all, who were
later to be her neighbors: the Morans and Parmalees, the