Undine had been surprised, and a little disconcerted, at her husband’s acceptance of the birthday incident.  Since the resetting of her bridal ornaments the relations between Washington Square and West End Avenue had been more and more strained; and the silent disapproval of the Marvell ladies was more irritating to her than open recrimination.  She knew how keenly Ralph must feel her last slight to his family, and she had been frightened when she guessed that he had seen her returning with Van Degen.  He must have been watching from the window, since, credulous as he always was, he evidently had a reason for not believing her when she told him she had come from the studio.  There was therefore something both puzzling and disturbing in his silence; and she made up her mind that it must be either explained or cajoled away.

These thoughts were with her as she dressed; but at the Ellings’ they fled like ghosts before light and laughter.  She had never been more open to the suggestions of immediate enjoyment.  At last she had reached the envied situation of the pretty woman with whom society must reckon, and if she had only had the means to live up to her opportunities she would have been perfectly content with life, with herself and her husband.  She still thought Ralph “sweet” when she was not bored by his good advice or exasperated by his inability to pay her bills.  The question of money was what chiefly stood between them; and now that this was momentarily disposed of by Van Degen’s offer she looked at Ralph more kindly—­she even felt a return of her first impersonal affection for him.  Everybody could see that Clare Van Degen was “gone” on him, and Undine always liked to know that what belonged to her was coveted by others.  Her reassurance had been fortified by the news she had heard at the Elling dinner—­the published fact of Harmon B. Driscoll’s unexpected victory.  The Ararat investigation had been mysteriously stopped—­quashed, in the language of the law—­and Elmer Moffatt “turned down,” as Van Degen (who sat next to her) expressed it.

“I don’t believe we’ll ever hear of that gentleman again,” he said contemptuously; and their eyes crossed gaily as she exclaimed:  “Then they’ll give the fancy ball after all?”

“I should have given you one anyhow—­shouldn’t you have liked that as well?” “Oh, you can give me one too!” she returned; and he bent closer to say:  “By Jove, I will—­and anything else you want.”

But on the way home her fears revived.  Ralph’s indifference struck her as unnatural.  He had not returned to the subject of Paul’s disappointment, had not even asked her to write a word of excuse to his mother.  Van Degen’s way of looking at her at dinner—­he was incapable of graduating his glances—­had made it plain that the favour she had accepted would necessitate her being more conspicuously in his company (though she was still resolved that it should be on just such terms as she chose); and it would be extremely troublesome if, at this juncture, Ralph should suddenly turn suspicious and secretive.