They were themselves again--the beautiful, passive woman and the lovely, eager girl, hiding again their depths and the disturbances in them. Mrs. Warner smoothed over the surface as well as the depths. She sent her housemaid to stay with the children and insisted that Cecily and Dick come to her house for dinner, where the case of Walter and Della was discussed and so much the best made of it that the tragic part was fairly smothered in hopes. * * * * * Three weeks later, after a wedding trip financed by his father, Walter brought Della home. The family in Carrington were thoroughly adjusted to the blow by that time and a few newspaper notices and careful statements of Mrs. Warner and Cecily had made it clear to their friends and acquaintances that Walter was not to return as a prodigal, but to a very genuine welcome. Yet at the first glance at Della, Cecily felt her heart sink. It would have been so much easier if Della had been flagrantly impossible, if she had been chewing gum or wearing lace veils and jockey perfume, but showing a diffidence and teachability that they could work with. Cecily had seen so many Dellas, she thought as she looked at her. Della was small and pretty and stylish. Stylish without imagination, wearing the “latest” in everything; a kind of fashion book model with fashion book curves and a manner that was reminiscent of the stories in the fashion books. She came into the Warners’ big drawing-room behind Walter, a kind of pertness and determination to demonstrate that she was as “good as anybody else” most apparent in her greetings. Mrs. Warner’s kindness and Cecily’s welcome excited no gratitude. She was going to deal with Walter’s family without making any concessions. Walter’s slight evident excitement and sensitiveness, his response to what his people were offering him were lost on her. She giggled a little and talked about how cold it had been in the sleeper and how she guessed everybody on the train knew they were “newly-weds” and how funny it was getting used to another name. There was a trace of petulance in her manner towards Walter, too. “I told him he just better hurry with his suit-case, that I wasn’t going to pack it for him--break him in wrong,” she said. Cecily, the memory of her own wedding trip coming back to her, with its wonder of service, felt herself helpless. “We’ve got to find a place to live now, I suppose,” was Della’s next comment. “But there’s no hurry surely. We want you to stay with us for a while until we get acquainted,” said Mrs. Warner. “That’s nice of you, but we’ll want a place of our own as soon as we can find one and Walter goes to work. I suppose you people didn’t like his leaving college.” “A college degree is sometimes valuable,” said Mr. Warner, rather grimly.