Pauline greeted her with a light kiss. "How can you ever tell if you are? I don't believe there's a clock in the house." "Yes, there is; in the nursery," said Lita. "Well, my dear, that one's stopped," rejoined her mother-in-law, smiling. "You've been seeing the boy? Oh, then you haven't missed me," Lita smiled back as she loosened her furs and tossed off her hat. She ran her hands through her goldfish-coloured hair, and flung herself down on a pile of cushions. "Tea's coming sooner or later, I suppose. Unless--a cocktail? No? Wouldn't you be more comfortable on the floor?" she suggested to her mother-in-law. Every whalebone in Pauline's perfectly fitting elastic girdle contracted apprehensively. "Thank you; I'm very well here." She assumed as willowy an attitude as the treacherous seat permitted, and added: "I'm so glad to have the chance of a little talk. In this rushing life we all tend to lose sight of each other, don't we? But I hear about you so constantly from Nona that I feel we're very close even when we don't meet. Nona's devoted to you--we all are." "That's awfully sweet of you," said Lita with her air of radiant indifference. "Well, my dear, we hope you reciprocate," Pauline sparkled, stretching a maternal hand to the young shoulder at her knee. Lita slanted her head backward with a slight laugh. Mrs. Manford had never thought her pretty, but today the mere freshness of her parted lips, their rosy lining, the unspoilt curves of her cheek and long white throat, stung the older woman to reluctant admiration. "Am I expected to be devoted to you _all_?" Lita questioned. "No, dear; only to Jim." "Oh--" said Jim's wife, her smile contracting to a faint grimace. Pauline leaned forward earnestly. "I won't pretend not to know something of what's been happening. I came here today to talk things over with you, quietly and affectionately--like an older sister. Try not to think of me as a mother-in-law!" Lita's slim eyebrows went up ironically. "Oh, I'm not afraid of mothers-in-law; they're not as permanent as they used to be." Pauline took a quick breath; she caught the impertinence under the banter, but she called her famous tact to the rescue. "I'm glad you're not afraid of me, because I want you to tell me perfectly frankly what it is that's bothering you ... you and Jim..." "Nothing is bothering me particularly; but I suppose I'm bothering Jim," said Lita lightly. "You're doing more than that, dear; you're making him desperately unhappy. This talk of wanting to separate--" Lita rose on her elbow among the cushions, and levelled her eyes on Mrs. Manford. They looked as clear and shallow as the most expensive topazes. "Separations are idiotic. What I want is a hundred per cent New York divorce. And he could let me have it just as easily..." "Lita! You don't know how wretched it makes me to hear you say such things."