he
telephone. Consideration of the fact that her friend might have been up
late the night before was not characteristic of Lydia. Tragic or not,
she was curious to hear what had happened at the Pulsifers'. She wanted
Eleanor to come and lunch with her. No, Miss Bellington was going back
to the country that morning. It was finally settled that Lydia should
drive Eleanor home in the little runabout and stay for luncheon with
her.

It was one of those mild days that make you think March is really a
spring month. Eleanor did not like to drive fast; and Lydia, with
unusual thoughtfulness, remembered her friend's wishes and drove at a
moderate pace. That was one way to tell if Lydia was really fond of
anyone--if she showed the sort of consideration that most people are
brought up to show to all human beings. The two women gossiped like
schoolgirls.

"Was Bobby too wonderful in his costume?"

"My dear, I wish you could have seen him. May Swayne made really rather
a goose of herself about him."

"Yes"--this thoughtfully from Lydia--"she always does when I'm not there
to protect him. And Fanny--was her Cleopatra as comic as it sounded?"

Eleanor wanted to know about Lydia's experiences--the hearing,
Washington. Lydia told how magnificently the governor had defended
himself, and added nothing at first about the less desirable aspects of
his character. She thought this reserve arose from loyalty, but the fact
that the governor was generally considered to be her own property made
her feel that to criticize him was to cheapen her own assets. But she
had great confidence in Eleanor, and by the time they had sat down to
lunch alone together she found herself launched on the whole story of
the impression Albee had made upon her. So interested, indeed, was she
in the narrative that when toward the end of luncheon Eleanor was called
to the telephone she hardly noticed the incident, except as it was an
interruption. She sat going over it all in her mind during the few
minutes that Eleanor was away, and the instant Eleanor came back she
resumed what she was saying.

Eleanor was a satisfactory listener. She did not begin scolding you,
telling you what you ought to have done before you had half finished.
She did not allow herself to be reminded of adventures of her own and
snatch the narrative away from you. She sat silent but alert, conveying
by something neither words nor motion that she followed every intricacy.

Her comment was,