Some timid ones had followed the women's lead and were looking elsewhere as Mrs. Lorraine went by--others, bachelors mainly, would have got up and bowed had she given them a glance, or even the encouragement of not ignoring them. "I didn't know whether she would care to speak to me," said Devonshire. "Her attitude was not especially melting." "The atmosphere on the piazza through the initial part of her progress wasn't calculated to thaw," remarked Smithers. "I never saw so icy a reception as the women gave her." "They didn't have much on her," said Westlake. "She handed them as good as they sent--and handed it first. _I'm_ for Mrs. Lorraine." "So are all the men, I fancy--but we would better not let our wives know it!" laughed Devonshire. Smithers nodded. "They take her--conduct as a reflection on themselves." "It is a queer trait in woman--a queer trait," reflected Westlake. "Something is radically wrong with them, it seems to me, when they have no pity for their kind. A man will condone the indiscretion, but a woman never. Why is it?" "And those who have themselves broken over and have not been found out, are the most unforgiving," added Devonshire. "It's mighty queer!" "It was a mighty kind thing for Pendleton and Burgoyne to do," said Westlake. "I felt like applauding." "So did I," echoed the others. "And it doesn't detract a bit from the bravery, that Pendleton is said at one time to have been in love with Stephanie Mourraille," remarked Smithers. "It rather increases it--and proves its truth," said Westlake. "As for Burgoyne, he evidently is going to take her as he left her--cut out the interim. However it is, it was a classy thing to do. I shall tell them so." "I wouldn't," Devonshire advised. "You might say it to Burgoyne but I should be shy of saying it to Pendleton. It is not the sort of praise that will appeal to him, I fancy--it is at the expense of the woman, you know." "H-u-m!" Westlake reflected. "I hadn't thought of that--but it's a pretty fine spun reason." "All the same, I wouldn't," was the reply. Just then a servant delivered a message to Burgoyne and he arose and went into the Club-house. Mrs. Lorraine, Pendleton, and he had been keeping up a rapid fire of small talk, without a reference to that which was uppermost in their own and everyone's mind. It obtruded itself at every turn of the conversation and everything that was said seemed in some way to hint at it. It was a relief when Burgoyne left--it gave them time to catch their breath, so to speak. Pendleton drew out his case, selected a cigarette with great deliberation, chose a match from the box on the table in front of him, struck it, and very carefully made a light. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, as one does who has been subjecting them to strain and needs to rest them. Then the tension of her nerves relaxed a trifle--she opened her eyes, to encounter Pendleton's looking at her questioningly.