“No, he promised her he wouldn’t.  But everyone was at the dinner.  Some of them came home early, I believe.  But it was all kept quiet, because Aline Pearsall is such a little shrinking violet, I suppose,” Mrs. Breckenridge said.  “The Pearsalls are to think it was just an impromptu affair.  Billy and Aline of course have no idea what a party it was.  But Clarence says that poor Berry was worse than he, and a few of them are still keeping it up.  It’s a shame, of course—­”

Her uninterested voice dropped into silence.

“Men are queer,” Miss Vanderwall said profoundly, busy with ivory-backed brushes, powders, and pastes.

“The mystery to me—­about men,” mused Mrs. Breckenridge, her absent eyes upon the buckled slipper she held in her hand, “is not that they are as helpless as babies the moment anything goes wrong with their poor little heads or their poor little tummies, but that they work so hard, in spite of that, to increase the general discomfort of living.  Women have a great deal of misery to bear, they are brave or cowardly about it as the case may be, but at least they endure and renounce and diet and keep early hours—­or whatever’s to be done—­they try to lessen the sum of physical misery.  But men go cheerily on—­they smoke too much, and eat too much, and drink too much, and they bring the resulting misery sweetly and confidently to some woman to bear for them.  It’s hopeless!”

“H’m!” was Miss Vanderwall’s thoughtful comment.  Presently she added dubiously:  “Did you ever think that another child might make a big difference to Clarence, Rachael?  That he might come to care for a son as he does for Billy, don’t you know—­”

“Oh, I wasn’t speaking of Clarence,” Mrs. Breckenridge said coldly.  And Elinor, recognizing a false step, winced inwardly.

“No, I didn’t suppose you were!” she assented hastily.

“If there’s one thing I am thankful for,” Rachael presently said moodily, “it’s that I haven’t a child.  I’m rather fond of kiddies--nice kiddies, myself; and Clarence likes children, too.  But things are quite bad enough now without that complication!” She brushed the loosened hair from her face restlessly, and sighed.  “Sometimes, when I see the other girls,” said she, “I think I’d make a rather good mother!  However”—­and getting suddenly to her feet, she flung up her head as if to be rid of the subject—­ “however, my dear, we shall never know!  Don’t mind me to-night, Elinor, I’m in a horrible mood, it will take nothing at all to set me off in what Bill used to call a regilyer tant’um!”

“Tantrum nothing,” said Elinor, in eager sympathy, feeling with the greatest relief that she was reinstated in Rachael’s good graces after her stupid blunder.  “I don’t see how you stand it at all!”