The girl went about in a dream, sometimes imagining the meeting of husband and wife, sometimes trying to fancy Isabelle with her lover.  As was inevitable, the older woman seemed to lose something charming and intangible in this confession of definite weakness.  To be adored by any man merely adds to her glory, but the instant she concedes him an inch, the Beauty throws down her halo, the whole affair becomes mundane and vulnerable.  Harriet might have envied Isabelle once, now she saw her frail, forty, her woman’s pride weakened by admitted passion, and was sorry for her.  She had had all men at her feet, now she must feel herself fortunate if she could hold one.

And with Isabelle’s shame came a wholesome sting of shame to Isabelle’s companion.  Harriet had seen nothing harmful in this affair a few days ago; it was the way of this world of theirs.  But she felt within her now the awakening of something clean and stern; she found in her mind odd phrases and terms—­“a married woman’s duty,” “her sense of honour,” “owing it to her husband and children.”

It was for few women to enjoy the popularity that Isabelle had known.  But any woman might run away with a rich admirer.  Harriet’s admiration for the cleverness with which Isabelle conducted this pretty playing with fire disappeared, and in its place came the sharp conviction that old-fashioned women like Linda had some justification, after all; it was “dangerous,” it did “lead to sin,” it could indeed “happen once too often.”

Harriet felt her own lapsing morality regaining its standard.  Just now, when Nina most needed her mother, when Richard was struggling with difficult business conditions, when Ward was engaged—­

She interrupted her thoughts here, and tried to make herself feel like a woman engaged to be married.  Somehow the fact persisted in baffling her.  There was an unreality about it that prevented her from tasting the full sweet.  Engaged—­to a rich man, and a rich man’s son.  Well, perhaps when Ward came back, it would seem more believable.

But Ward might come back to a changed home.  Harriet fancied a quiet wedding, herself afterward as the true head of the disorganized family.  She would be Nina’s natural chaperon, then, her father-in-law’s—­for Richard would be that!—­natural confidante.  The prospect, and every hour of this warm and silent day seemed to make it more definite, brought the wild-rose colour to her face, and made her heart beat faster.  It was certainly a life full and gratifying beyond her dreaming, and it was almost settled now!  If Ward did not figure very prominently in this bright dream, she told herself that Ward should have no cause for grievance.  He should always be first in everything; but if his wife enjoyed her position, her connections, her place in the family, surely there was no harm in that!  There was but one stumbling block:  Royal Blondin.  Her heart stopped at him.