"Let us go into the garden for awhile, Jack," Olive suggested. "I think I enjoy it more in the morning than at any other time. Besides, I have been intending to ask if you suppose Frieda and her husband have informed each other that they are both sailing for England? It will be odd to have them meet each other here unless they do know." Jack shook her head. "I haven't any ideas on the subject, but Frank will have to see that Professor Russell stays in London until we find out from Frieda. Sorry, but I can't go outdoors with you till this afternoon. I've hundreds of things to do and have promised Frank to write some letters which I have been putting off." In return Olive said nothing, although, as she was walking about outdoors alone, she rather marveled at the change in her friend's life. As a girl Jacqueline Ralston's life had been entirely unordered; she had done each day, after the sun rose over her beloved prairies, whatever the day called her to do. Now, each of Jack's days seemed to follow an established routine. In the morning immediately after breakfast she saw her housekeeper; then she spent two hours with her babies, afterwards answering an immense amount of correspondence--and Jack had always hated letter writing more than any other task. In the afternoon she was supposed to be free for a few hours, and then there were guests to tea, or else Lady Kent was supposed to drive or motor over to make calls on her country neighbors. Of course such an existence with money and a high position might be regarded as ideal by most women. But Olive was puzzled, because that kind of a life did not appear suited to the girl she remembered. However, as Jack seemed happy, Olive concluded that she must have changed, as most girls do after marriage. This afternoon a number of friends had been asked to tea at Kent House in order to meet Olive. When they went down into the garden together, where tea was to be served, Olive felt that her decision of the morning had really been nearer the truth than she had then appreciated. Jack looked like one of the fairest types of society women. She was dressed in white--an exquisite embroidered material--and had on a big soft white garden hat, trimmed with deep toned pink roses. The soft, damp English air had kept her color as vivid as ever and given her yellow brown hair an even finer gloss. On their way to the tea table in the garden, Jack stopped to pick for her companion a bouquet of lavender primroses and anemones and stars of the mist--flowers ranging from violet to pure white--for Olive was wearing a pale grey chiffon, which blended perfectly with her pronounced oriental coloring.