He had one other encounter. He had come in to Carrington just at this time because he had known that Matthew was on for three days from Washington. He had not known that seeing Matthew meant dining with Fliss at the hotel. But it did. She was looking as pretty as ever, even somehow prettier, and she had a better manner. Still in apparent mourning, she would not dance, but she regaled Dick with tales of Washington which kept them all amused, and Dick enjoyed her as he had not enjoyed anybody since his break with Cecily. She spoke of that when Matthew had gone to find her coat and get a taxi. She was going to pay some calls while Dick and Matthew talked business. “How is Cecily?” she asked Dick, the corner of her eyes lifted toward him. “I don’t know.” “You aren’t living there?” “No.” “Don’t stiffen, Dick. I don’t mean to pry. I’m really sorry.” “Thank you.” “You’re a fool, Dick.” “Which way?” “Trying to get along without her. You can’t. Nobody seems to be able to. Here’s your little sister-in-law adoring her. Here’s Matthew much the same. Here’s you, the same, though she irritates you a little just as she does me. I confess I’m exempt. I don’t adore. But I never did fall for the good wife and mother type.” “Change the subject, Fliss.” “No, I won’t, Dick. I’ll say my say. I’ll say that you and your good wife ought to get together--if only for that blessed Dorothea’s sake. I suppose Cecily wouldn’t let me have Dorothea? I helped bring her into the world. Well, maybe I can send her an anonymous present once in a while. Dick, did you ever like me?” “I wonder just how much,” teased Dick. “Cecily and I have always been jealous of each other, you know. I suppose that when we are old and gray and wear caps (only I mean to Marcel mine to the end), that we will still be jealous of the parts of our husbands’ minds we haven’t got. Cecily has a lot of Matthew’s (the best part of it, too) and I have a tiny scrap of yours which she begrudges me. But she can’t have it, Dick. I cling to it. She can have most of you, but I want the tiny scrap of you that wants brighter color than Cecily will give you. So there!” She finished with her old impudent smile. “Foolish woman!” he said. “Foolish nothing. I’m a working woman these days with no time for foolishness. I’m storming Washington society. And as Matthew goes up and up I shall trail along after him. Just talking of you, darling,” she finished as Matthew came in sight. Dick spent a few dutiful days with his mother, repressing her efforts to repeat to him the gossip about his affairs and just as definitely refusing to hear or talk ill of Cecily. Mrs. Harrison wanted him to make some effort to get Dorothea for her. But he refused. “Dorothea is better with her mother.” “You never know. Cecily will probably get some notion to put the child into a convent.” “Nonsense, mother.”