at. And I telephoned Rodney just now, to find out what the
next boat for Genoa was, or Naples, and get me a stateroom. Lend me
Marie, will you, to help pack? Because I'll probably have to take the
five-thirty.' Harriet all over. Well, on the whole, I'm glad."

"Oh, yes," said Constance. "She'd always be at a loose end in this
country. She doesn't believe in divorce. She might, of course, if she
fell in love with another man over here. But that's not likely to
happen. And she can't stand America any more. So even an unsuccessful
marriage over there, especially if Italy gets drawn into the war, and
her man gets ..."

"Constance!" cried Violet, horrified.

"Oh, not necessarily killed," Constance went on. "Crippled or something,
or even if he really got interested in the profession of being a
soldier. She's done well to go back to him."

"Anyway, that wasn't what I meant," said Violet. "I meant I was glad for
Rodney and--Rose. Mind you, I don't _know_ a single thing. But I've just
got a hunch that with Harriet off the board, it will be a little more
possible for those two to get together."

Constance looked at her intently. "You've changed your tune," she said.
"I thought you were through with Rose for good and all. I thought what
you were rooting for was a divorce and a fresh start for Rodney."

"I thought so, too," said Violet, "until I saw her."

"Saw her!" Constance cried. "Where? When?"

"In New York on the way home," said Violet.

"Well--tell me all about it," said Constance, when she saw Violet wasn't
going on of her own accord. "You, pretending you wanted to know about
everything, and pretending to be a heroine for not telling me all about
being a refugee! What is she doing? What did she look like? What did she
say?"

"You've changed your tune, too," said Violet. "Because you were through
with her just as much as I was. You didn't want to hear anything more
about her. Of course she could ran away and go on the stage if she
liked, you said, but she'd better not try to come back."

Constance pointed out that she hadn't, as yet, expressed the hope that
Rodney would make it up with her. But she pleaded guilty to a strong
curiosity.

"Well, I can't tell you much," said Violet. "John and I were coming down
Fifth Avenue in a taxi one afternoon, and were stopped by the traffic at
Forty-fourth Street. And right there, in another taxi, was Rose. I
didn't see her till just as we got the whistle to go ahead. I was