They had arranged the trains. Helen had told her she would have her met.

When finally the bell rang, and the maid announced Mrs. Dallas, Helen crossed the hall to the reception-room with a sensation as near dread as she had ever felt in her life when about to meet a guest.

Stella was standing up. She had on a dark-blue tricolette suit, and wore a summer fur—white fox, fastened behind. The dead animal’s head hung halfway down her back. Stella’s coat was tightly buttoned, and fitted her generous bust and hips without a ripple. Her hat was large and broad-brimmed, and didn’t take a veil well. Therefore she had adjusted her veil over her bare head before putting her hat on. The veil was drawn tightly over her generous cheeks and chin, and it also fitted without a ripple.

2

HELEN LOOKED AT nothing but Stella’s eyes, as she came toward her smiling, with her hand outstretched.

“Good-morning, Mrs. Dallas,” she said. “I hope the chauffeur found you.”

“No, he didn’t. There was quite a crowd. I walked.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It is such a warm morning. Let me send for some water.” She made a movement toward the bell.

“I don’t want any water.” Why, her hair was snow-white on one side! She couldn’t be a day under forty!

“Well, do take off your coat and unfasten your fur.”

“No, thanks.”

“And sit down. Let us come into the other room. It’s pleasanter there.”

Helen led the way across the hall, shoved a cool, linen-covered armchair in front of one of the terrace windows. “I always like it here better on a warm morning, looking out on the shadows rather than on sunshine. And there’s usually a breeze.”

Opposite the armchair Helen placed one of the Sheratons for herself. She made a little waving motion toward the armchair. “Sit down, please,” she said. “Take that chair.”

Stella complied—at least partially. She took the extreme edge of the chair. It was one of those low deep affairs. She’d have a frightful time getting out of it if she sat back. Helen sat down, too. There was a pause—a pause that threatened to become awkward.

“Is it very warm in town this morning?” Helen inquired.

Stella ignored the question. Might as well take the bull by the horns.

“I suppose you think it’s funny my coming here.”

“No, I don’t,” Helen earnestly assured her, leaning forward, clasping her hands upon her knees. “You and I have a great deal in common. I don’t think it’s funny at all.”