amily councils. She hadn't much of a mind,
perhaps; Rodney described it once as a small, well oiled, easy running
sort of mind that stitched away without misgivings, to its conclusions.
Rodney never could have been very fond of her. But she had something he
knew he lacked, and in matters which he regarded as of minor
importance--things that he didn't consider worth bothering much about
one way or the other--he'd submit to her guidance, it appeared, without
much question.

She had written, on the occasion of Rodney's marriage, a letter to Rose,
professing with perfect adequacy, to give her a sisterly welcome into
the family. But Rose felt pretty sure (a fragment of talk she overheard,
an impatient laugh of Rodney's, and Frederica's "Oh, that's Harriet of
course," had perhaps suggested it) that the _contessa_ regarded Rodney's
marriage as a _mesalliance_. She had entertained this notion the more
easily because at that time what Harriet thought--whatever Harriet might
think--seemed a matter of infinitesimal importance.

She'd discovered, along in the winter sometime, that Harriet's affairs
were going rather badly. Neither Rodney nor Frederica had gone into
details. But it was plain enough that both of them were looking for a
smash of some sort. It was in May that the cable came to Frederica
announcing that Harriet was coming back for a long visit. "That's all
she said," Rodney explained to Rose. "But I suppose it means the finish.
She said she didn't want any fuss made, but she hinted she'd like to
have Freddy meet her in New York, and Freddy's going. Poor old Harriet!
That's rather a pill for her to swallow, if it's so. We must try to
cheer her up."

She didn't seem much in need of cheering up, Rose thought, when they
first met. All that showed on the _contessa's_ highly polished surface
was a disposition to talk humorously over old times with her old
friends, including her brother and sister, and a sort of dismayed
acquiescence in the smoky seriousness, the inadequate civilization, the
sprawling formlessness of the city of her birth, not excluding that part
of it which called itself society.

In broad strokes, you could describe Harriet by saying she was as
different as a beautiful woman could be from Frederica. She wasn't so
beautiful as Frederica, to be sure, but together they made a
wonderfully contrasted pair--Harriet almost as perfect a brunette type
as Frederica was a blonde, and got up with her ear-rings and h