She kept away from the club, stayed at home; and soon the telephone bell was ringing, and pleading voices were giving the flattering proof that in her abrupt divorce from the social life of the town the sense of loss was by no means altogether on her side. And presently over came Sarah Carpenter escorted by her big handsome brother, Shirley Drummond, "as a committee of two," so Sarah put it, "to investigate and report on your cruel and inhuman treatment of us." It was dull, frightfully dull, at the club house, she went on to explain. They did nothing but sit round and try to guess why Courtney Vaughan had dropped them. "And have you forgotten the flower show you were planning? and the play you were going to organize? and the Venetian fête?"
"Oh, that was just talk," replied Courtney. "It’s far too hot. I’m resting, and looking after my boy. I’ll be over some afternoon soon."
Sarah pleaded and coaxed. Shirley took no part, but sat on the veranda rail, his long legs swinging, his eyes on the interior of the straw hat he was turning round and round between his hands. When Sarah realized that there was unalterable resolution under Courtney’s light and gay laughing off of her entreaties, she bade Shirley wait there for her and went to call on Molly Donaldson. Courtney looked admiringly after Sarah’s long willowy figure and striking costume—sunshade and hat, dress and stockings and ties, all of various cool, harmonious shades of red.
"Your sister always was pretty," said Courtney. "But since she’s married it seems to me she gets prettier all the time."
"Marriage does bring out those women that don’t go to pieces," said he. "I guess it’s because they get the courage to be more like themselves. Girls are such hypocrites—always posing. You were the only one I ever liked. You weren’t a hypocrite. Where you didn’t dare be yourself you simply kept quiet."
"I like your impudence—attacking women for being what you men compel."
"Maybe so," said he absently. "But I didn’t come over here in the hot sun to talk generalities. Look here, Courtney, there’s something I’ve got to say to you." His good-humored commonplace face was even redder than the heat and his bulk—for he wasn’t a thin man—warranted. His voice was low and confused, yet suggested a man talking against a mob and determined to be heard. "I’ve got to tell you that I care for you—and have ever since we used to walk from high school together—whenever some other fellow didn’t slip in ahead of me."