s are going to be wider." Were hers, perhaps, too wide
as it was? She looked at her limp raiment, piling itself up on bed and
sofa, and understood that, according to Violet's standards, and that
of all her set, those dresses, which Nick had thought so original and
exquisite, were already commonplace and dowdy, fit only to be passed on
to poor relations or given to one's maid. And Susy would have to go on
wearing them till they fell to bits-or else.... Well, or else begin the
old life again in some new form....

She laughed aloud at the turn of her thoughts. Dresses? How little they
had mattered a few short weeks ago! And now, perhaps, they would again
be one of the foremost considerations in her life. How could it be
otherwise, if she were to return again to her old dependence on Ellie
Vanderlyn, Ursula Gillow, Violet Melrose? And beyond that, only the
Bockheimers and their kind awaited her....

A knock on the door--what a relief! It was Mrs. Match again, with a
telegram. To whom had Susy given her new address? With a throbbing heart
she tore open the envelope and read:

"Shall be in Paris Friday for twenty-four hours where can I see you
write Nouveau Luxe."

Ah, yes--she remembered now: she had written to Strefford! And this was
his answer: he was coming. She dropped into a chair, and tried to think.
What on earth had she said in her letter? It had been mainly, of course,
one of condolence; but now she remembered having added, in a precipitate
postscript: "I can't give your message to Nick, for he's gone off with
the Hickses-I don't know where, or for how long. It's all right, of
course: it was in our bargain."

She had not meant to put in that last phrase; but as she sealed her
letter to Strefford her eye had fallen on Nick's missive, which lay
beside it. Nothing in her husband's brief lines had embittered her as
much as the allusion to Strefford. It seemed to imply that Nick's own
plans were made, that his own future was secure, and that he could
therefore freely and handsomely take thought for hers, and give her a
pointer in the right direction. Sudden rage had possessed her at the
thought: where she had at first read jealousy she now saw only a cold
providence, and in a blur of tears she had scrawled her postscript to
Strefford. She remembered that she had not even asked him to keep her
secret. Well--after all, what would it matter if people should already
know that Nick had left her? Their parting could not l