“Poor Magsie—­it’s all so absurd!”

If for a few seconds her thoughts wandered, they always came swiftly back.  Magsie and Warren had fallen in love with each other—­wanted to marry each other.  Rachael tried to marshal her whirling thoughts; there must be simple reason somewhere in this chaotic matter.  She had the desperate sensation of a mad-woman trying to prove herself sane.  Were they all crazy, to have got themselves into this hideous fix?  What was definite, what facts had they upon which to build their surmises?

Warren was her husband, that was one fact; Warren loved her, that was another.  They had lived together for nearly eight years, planned together, they knew each other now, heart and soul.  And there were two sons.  These being facts for Rachael, what facts had Magsie?  Rachael’s heart rose on a wild rush of confidence.  Magsie had no basis for her pretension.  Magsie was young, and she had madly and blindly fallen in love.  There was her single claim:  she loved.  Rachael could not doubt it after that hour in the sitting-room.  But what pitiable folly!  To love and to admit love for another woman’s husband!

Thinking, thinking, thinking, Rachael lay awake all night.  She composed herself a hundred times for sleep, and a hundred times sleep evaded her.  Magsie—­Warren—­Rachael.  Their names swept round and round in her tired brain.  She was talking to Magsie, so eloquently and kindly; she was talking to Warren.  Warren was shocked at the mere thought of her suspicions, had seen nothing, had suspected nothing, couldn’t believe that Rachael could be so foolish!  Warren’s arms were about her, he was going to take her and the boys away.  This was a bad atmosphere for wives, this diseased and abnormal city, Warren said.  She was buying steamer coats for Derry and Jim—­

Magsie!  Again the girl’s tense, excited face rose before Rachael’s fevered memory.  “You mustn’t think either one of us saw this coming!”

Rachael rose on her elbow, shook her pillows, flashed a night-light on her watch.  Quarter to three.  It was a rather dismal hour, she thought, not near enough either midnight or morning.  Tossing so long, she would be sleepless all night now.

Well, what was marriage anyway?  Was there never a time of serenity, of surety?  Was any pretty, irresponsible young woman free to set her heart upon another woman’s husband, the father of another woman’s children?  Rachael suddenly thought of Clarence.  How different the whole thing had seemed then!  Clarence’s pride, Clarence’s child, had they been so hurt as her pride and her children were to be hurt now?