"My offer to include Porshinger in the party rather met with opposition!" Gladys laughed, as she and Stephanie sat alone together in the farmer's boudoir that night. She balanced her slipper on one silken toe and surveyed it critically. "I thought Sheldon Burgoyne would choke and that Warwick Devereux would have a fit. As for Montague Pendleton, one never can tell from _his_ manner whether he is sitting on a red hot stove, a piece of ice--or an easy chair. Though my private opinion is that he liked it the least of any of them."
"No, you never can tell by Montague's manner," Stephanie agreed. "It is always severely indifferent outwardly, and no one ever gets behind the scenes--with him."
"No one--but Stephanie Lorraine!" Gladys smiled, "and she won't tell. In fact, you two are much alike in temperament--the calmly placid sort on the surface, and the devil knows how turbulent underneath."
"You flatter me indeed," Stephanie replied, drawing one gleaming coppery braid slowly through her fingers. "I consider it a very great compliment to be likened to Montague, even in a little thing."
The other looked at her speculatively a bit, drumming the while with slow fingers on the dressing table in front of her. Stephanie, with a dreamy, absent air, continued drawing the braid back and forth against her cheek.
"It's a pity!" reflected Gladys thoughtfully.
Stephanie continued to toy with her braid and did not seem to hear.
"It's a pity," Gladys repeated.--"A grievous pity that you didn't marry Montague Pendleton--instead of Harry Lorraine."
"It's more than a pity--it's a calamity," replied Stephanie imperturbably.
"Why don't you marry him now?" Gladys demanded.
"Simply because it's contrary to the law of the land for a woman to have two husbands at the same time. Harry Lorraine happens still to be alive."
"I haven't any cause--and he hasn't any pluck."
"What will Reno accomplish--if he opposes it! Moreover, I don't want a Reno divorce. I should never feel that I _was_ divorced."
"It is better than Amherst and six months in Europe, you are thinking," Stephanie added. "And you're quite right; that was hell--perfect hell."
Gladys picked up her hand-glass and studied her face in an impersonal way--as though it were the face of a stranger.