“And as Billy is too young and too blind to see that Joe isn’t a gentleman,” she continued, “or to realize that Lucy got her divorce against his will, to believe that her money might well influence a gentleman of Joe’s luxurious tastes and dislike for office work—­why, I suppose they will be married!”

“Never!” said Florence Haviland, with some heat, “Don’t!”

“Unless Clarence shoots him,” submitted Rachael.  A look of intense anxiety clouded Mrs. Haviland’s eyes.

“I believe he would,” she said, in a wretched whisper, with a cautious glance about.

“He might,” his wife said seriously.  “If ever it comes to that, we shall simply have to keep them apart.  You see Billy—­the clever little devil—­”

“Oh, Rachael, don’t use such words!” said the church woman.  “Father Graves was saying only the other day that one’s speech should be ‘yea, yea’ and—­”

“I daresay!” Mrs. Breckenridge’s smile was indulgent.  It had been many years since Florence had succeeded in ruffling her.  “Billy, then,” she resumed, “keeps her father happy in the thought that he is all the world to her, and that her occasional chats with Joe are of an entirely uplifting and impersonal character.”

“Impersonal!  Uplifting!” Mrs. Haviland repeated indignantly.  “There wasn’t very much uplift about them the other night.  Gardner and I stopped in to see if we couldn’t take you to the Hoyts’, but you’d gone.  Carol had on that flame-colored dress of hers, her hair was fluffed all over her ears in that silly way the girls do now; Joe couldn’t take his eyes off her.  The only light they had in the drawing-room was the yellow lamp and the fire; it was the coziest thing I ever saw!”

“Vivvy Sartoris was here!” Rachael said quickly.

“Don’t you believe it, my dear!” Mrs. Haviland returned triumphantly.  “Carol was very demure, ‘Tante’ this and ‘Tante’ that, but I knew right away that something was amiss!  ‘Oh,’ I said right out flatly, ‘are you alone here, Carol?’ and she answered very prettily:  ‘Vivian was to be here, but she hasn’t come yet!’ This was after half-past seven.”

“I understood Vivian was here,” said Rachael, flushing darkly.  “Let me see—­the next morning—­where was I?  Oh, yes, it was your luncheon, and Billy had gone out for some tennis when I came downstairs.  I supposed of course—­but I didn’t ask.  I did ask Helda what time she had let the gentleman out and she said before eleven—­not much after half-past ten, in fact.”

“You see, we mustn’t go on suppositions and halftruths any more,” said Mrs. Haviland in delicate reproach.  “When we have that wonderful and delicate thing, a girl’s soul, to deal with, we must be sure.”

“I suppose I’d better tell Clarence that—­about Wednesday night,” Rachael said, downing with some effort an impulse to ask Florence not to be so smug.

“Well, I think you had,” the other agreed, with visible relief.