As a matter of fact, Rachael thought about him very often during
the course of the next two or three days, and after he had left
her that night she could think of nothing else. To the admiration
of men she was cheerfully accustomed; perhaps it would be safe to
say that not in the course of the past ten years had she ever
found herself alone in a man's company without evoking a more or
less definite declaration of his admiration for her. But to-
night's affair was a little distinctive for several reasons.
Warren Gregory was a most exceptional man, for one thing; he was
reputedly a coldblooded man, for another; and for a third, he had
been extraordinarily in earnest. There had been no hesitation, he
had committed himself wholeheartedly. She was conscious of a
pleasurable thrill. However gracious, however gallant Warren was,
there had been no social pretence in his attitude to-night.

And for a few moments she let her imagination play pleasantly with
the situation. It was at least a new thought, and life had run in
a groove for a long, long time. Granted the preliminaries safely
managed, it would be a great triumph for the woman whom Clarence
Breckenridge had ignored to come back into this group as Warren
Gregory's wife.

Rachael got into bed, flinging two or three books down beside her
pillow and lighting the shaded lamp that stood at the bedside. She
found herself unable to read.