“There was no account of it in any of the papers,” Mrs. Kay Bird informed her. “Stephen Dallas obtained his divorce without even a flutter of a struggle, which does not surprise any of us who know the facts. We agree with the former Mrs. Dallas, it would have been very unwise for her to contest her husband’s charges.”

“Oh, did he make charges?”

“That’s the usual proceeding, my dear.”

“And what were they?”

“Well, he lives in New York. You know the New York laws, I suppose.”

Shrugs. Soft laughter.

“And the child,” Phyllis added, “was put immediately into the custody of her father.”

“Oh, dear! You never can tell what a woman is at the core, can you?” deplored Rosamond. “Why, when we first knew Stella Dallas she didn’t seem really bad, though she always was awfully ordinary, of course. Even after that time you saw her at Belcher’s Beach, Myrtle, I couldn’t believe she’d really fallen as low as that. I thought you must be mistaken.”

“Tell Rosamond about New York, Myrtle,” said Mrs. Kay Bird.

Myrtle placed her coffee-cup on the mantle, too, and extending a slender hand to a silver box near by, selected a cigarette.

“I saw Stella Dallas in New York, Rosamond,” she announced impressively. “I saw her down near Washington Square. I was down that way seeing a friend of mine who has the most fascinating studio in an old stable. I saw Stella Dallas with the Munn man again! They seemed to be on quite familiar terms.”

“Did you, really?”

“It was not a pretty sight, I assure you. The Munn man was intoxicated, I think. Anyway, she had to help him walk. I won’t say she was intoxicated, too, because I don’t know that she was, but she didn’t look right. And she has coarsened—oh, terribly, girls! A woman of that sort always does. And has lost her self-respect as to appearances, as is also usual, I believe. Her clothes were really shabby and his were in actual rags. City’s dregs—that’s all I could think of as I looked at them—city’s dregs.”

“How unpleasant,” shuddered Rosamond.

“Disgusting, was my word,” said Phyllis.

“Revolting, was mine,” laughed Mrs. Kay Bird. Myrtle extended a languid arm. “Please pass me the matches, Phyllis. Thank you, Dear. She’s a depraved woman, girls,” she announced. “Always was, and always will be. Oh, here come the men.” She flipped her match into the open fire. “Let’s cut for partners.”

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