But she had been in Bainbridge a month now.  People had called.  And she was still as ignorant as ever.  She had been so sure that someone would mention Mary almost at once.  She had felt that people would simply not be able to refrain from hinting to the bride a knowledge of her husband’s unhappy past.  There were so many ways in which it might be done.  Someone might say, “When I heard that Professor Spence was married, I felt sure that the bride would have dark hair because—­oh, what am I saying!  Please, may I have more tea?” But no one, not even the giddiest flapper of them all, had said even that!  Perhaps, incredible as it might seem, Bainbridge did not know about Mary?  She had been, Desire remembered, a visitor there when Benis met her.  Perhaps her stay had been brief.  Perhaps the ill-fated courtship had taken place elsewhere?  Even then, it seemed almost unbelievably stupid of Bainbridge not to have known something.  But of course, she had not met nearly everybody.  This fact lent excitement to the idea of the reception.  Something might be said at any moment.

If not—­there was still John.  John must know.  A man does not keep the news of a serious love affair from his best friend.  Some day, when John knew her well enough, he might speak, delicately, of that lost romance.  Yes.  She would have to cultivate John.

Luckily, John was easily cultivated.  He had been quite charming to her from the very first.  He thought of her comfort continually, almost too continually—­but that, no doubt, was medical fussiness.  He insisted, for instance, upon putting wraps about her shoulders after dewfall and refused to believe that she never caught cold.  Only last night he had left early saying that she must get her beauty sleep so as to be fresh for the reception.

“One would think,” she had said, sauntering with him to the gate, “that the guests might decide to eat me instead of the ices.  Why do you all expect me to quake and shiver?  They can’t really do anything to me, I suppose?”

“Do?” The doctor was absent-minded.  “Do?  Oh, they can do things all right.  But,” with quite unnecessary emphasis, “their worst efforts won’t be a patch on the things you will do to them.  Why, you’ll add ten years to the age of everyone over twenty and make the others feel like babes in arms.  You’ll raise all their vibrations to boiling point and remain yourself as cool and pulseless as—­as you are now.”

Desire was surprised, but she was reasonable.

“If you can tell me why my vibrations should raise themselves,” she said, “I will see what can be done.”

The doctor had gone home gloomily.

“He is really very moody, for a doctor,” thought desire, as she sauntered back through the dusk.  “It seems to me that he needs cheering up.”

Then she probably forgot him, for certainly no thought of his gloominess disturbed her beauty sleep.  A fresher or more glowing bride had never gathered flowers for her own reception.  She had carried them into all the rooms; careless for once of their cool aloofness; making them welcome her whether they would or not.  Then, as the stir of preparation ceased and the house sank into perfumed quiet, she had slipped back into her own pink and grey room for a breathing space before it was time to dress.