She entered into Billy’s purchasing perplexities with great sympathy; a successful hat was found, several deliciously extravagant and fragile dresses for camping.

“You’re awfully decent about all this, Rachael.”  Billy said once; “it must be a sweet life we lead you sometimes!”

Something in the girl’s young glance touched Rachael strangely.  They were in the car again now, going toward Mrs. Gregory’s handsome, old-fashioned house on Washington Square.  Rachael was inspired to seize the propitious second.

“Listen, Bill,” she said, and paused.  Billy eyed her curiously.  Obtuse as she was, a certain change in Rachael had not entirely escaped the younger woman.

“Well?” she asked, on guard.

“Well—­” Rachael faltered.  Motherly advice was not much in her line.  “It’s just this, Bill,” she resumed slowly, “when you think of marriage, don’t think of just a few weeks or a few months; think of all the time.  Think of other things than just—­that sort of—­love.  Children, you know, and—­and books, don’t you know?  Things that count.  Be—­I don’t say be guided entirely by what your father and lots of other persons think, but be influenced by it!  Realize that we have no motive but—­but affection, in advising you to be sure.”

The stumbling, uncertain words were unlike Mrs. Breckenridge’s usual certain flow of reasoning.  But in spite of this, or because of it, Billy was somewhat impressed.

“I had an aunt in California,” Rachael continued, “who cried, and got whipped and locked up, and all the rest of it, and she carried her point.  But she was unhappy. ...”

“You mean because Joe is divorced?” Billy asked in a somewhat troubled voice.

The scarlet rushed to Rachael’s face.

“N—­not entirely,” she answered in some confusion.

“That is, you don’t think divorced people ought to remarry, even if the divorce is fair enough?” Billy pursued, determined to be clear.

“Well, I suppose every case is different, Bill.”

“That’s what you’ve always said!” Billy accused her vivaciously.  “You said, time and time again, that if people can’t live together in peace they ought to separate, but that it was another thing if they married again!”

“Did I?” Rachael asked weakly, adding a moment later, with obvious relief in her tone:  “Here we are!  It’s only this, Bill,” she finished, as they mounted the brownstone steps, “be sure.  You can do anything, I suppose.  Only be sure!”

Mrs. Gregory would be down in a few minutes, old Dennison said.  Rachael murmured something amiable, and the two went into the dark, handsome parlors; the house was full of parlors; on both sides of the hall stately, crowded rooms could be glimpsed through open doors.

“Isn’t it fierce?” Billy said with a helpless shrug.  Rachael smiled and shook her head slowly in puzzled consent.  “Don’t you suppose they ever air it?” pursued the younger woman in a low tone.  The air had a peculiarly close, dry smell.