"Are you going away?" she asked, shyly. "Not far--nothing spectacular or romantic. I'm done with that. Beatrice goes West, I believe. She is quite happy. She is going to New York first to get her divorce wardrobe. It is her father I pity--he has to face another son-in-law," Steve laughed. "I am merely going to work for an old and reliable firm--use my nest egg for a house. A brown-shingled house, I think, with plain yard and a few ambitious shrubs blooming along the walks. I don't know what they will be; I leave that to you!" Luke wondered why he was not called upon for action, but he wondered still more as Mary came presently to ask that he tell Steve good-night. Her gray eyes were like captured sunrise. "Luke, dear," she said in as feminine a manner as Beatrice might have done, "don't worry about me any more. I'm a queer old sister--but it's all coming out all right," kissing him before Steve, to his utter confusion. CHAPTER XXIV Beatrice sent for Gay before she decided to run down to New York to gather up some good-looking things to wear while West. More and more the novelty of the situation was appealing to her. She would ship her car out and take with her a maid, the Pom, and her aunt, besides three trunks of clothes. She also had learned of hot springs that were extremely reducing; and of a wonderful lawyer whom several of her friends recommended. It had grown very distressing to have a cave man prowl about the villa, the eternal disapproval of whatsoever she did, then her father's presence got on her nerves. Considering everything she was glad to escape, and she welcomed the sympathy and peculiar publicity that would be hers. The role of an injured woman is almost as attractive as that of a romantic parasite. All in all, she was just bound to have a good time. To be sure she thought of Steve working for someone else, making one twentieth of his former income, marrying Mary and starting housekeeping in eight rooms and a pocket handkerchief of a lawn--and she envied them. This was only natural; it would be fun to be in Mary's place for a fortnight or so, so she could tell about it afterward. And she thought of Mary and of all she had admitted in the tenseness of their conversation. When she returned from New York Gay met her at the train. He carried a single long-stemmed white rose, which, he lisped, stood for friendship. And Beatrice--three pounds heavier if the truth were told--quite languid and easily pleased, looked affectionately upon Gay, who was trying to smile his sweetest. "Of course this is very hard"--feeling it the thing to say--"but inevitable."