It seems only right since she was his—”

“Get in, Adelaide!” said Gloria’s father, speaking sternly. “We’ll drive over there and speak to her at the house a minute, but that is all. There, they are waiting for our car to start!”

Gloria’s mother got in. “But I promised,” she said firmly.

“I myself will explain!” said the father, and Gloria gave him a grateful look and leaned wearily back in the car.

When Gloria reached home, she went up and took off her black dress, putting on a plain old frock of white silk with touches of yellow in the trimming. It was a dress she had often played golf in. Then she sat down at her window and looked out at the sunset light on the lawn, touching the forsythia and the tulips with gold and flaming beauty. She laid her tired head down on her hands on the windowsill and wondered how things could go on just the same in spite of pain and shame and sorrow. It was a lovely world, yet she could find no joy in it. She almost envied the unhurt youth of her brother who came to kiss her good-bye before he started back to school.

But when she went downstairs to dinner, where she knew her presence would be required or a fuss would be made about her not eating enough, her mother lifted horrified eyebrows at her garments.

“Why, Gloria! How unseemly! This first night of all times! Suppose somebody should come in! And what will the servants think? Run right back dear, and get on your black dress!”

Gloria looked wearily protesting at her mother’s words, and once more her father interfered. “She looks much better in that,” he said. “Let her be! She has suffered enough for one day.”

“There you go again, Charles,” said his wife haughtily, “trying to decide a question you don’t in the least understand!”

“That’s all right, Adelaide,” said the father gravely, “perhaps you don’t understand just how little strength this child has left after the ordeal of the day.”

“And why wouldn’t I understand my child as well as you, I would like to know?” said his wife. “I, her mother! You’re absurd. You always were sentimental, and you always encouraged her in such ideas. I’d like to know what terrible ordeal there was today? It was just a perfect funeral from start to finish. Not a detail went wrong. The flowers were marvelous. Did you see those white orchids? Weren’t they the most exquisite things? And not a hitch or mistake anywhere. Not an unsightly moment. Everything just moved on oiled wheels! And Stanwood looked so perfectly natural, just as if he were going to laugh right out at us all! I’m sure I thought it was a lovely funeral!”

“You would!” said Vanna under her breath.

“What did you say, Vanna? I do wish you would stop that habit of talking in such a low tone that no one can hear you. It’s very rude indeed!” said her mother.

“Excuse me, Mother!” said Vanna, dropping her eyes to hide her indignation. She knew that Gloria was being tortured.

“Couldn’t we just forget it for a while, Adelaide?” said her husband with a sigh. “We don’t all feel that way about it. We’re tired out. It’s been a hard strain, and we want to eat our dinner now.”

“Well, really, am I hindering you from eating your dinner? I’m sorry. But it strikes me that it isn’t something we want to forget right away. There’s a great deal of satisfaction in knowing that the best people were there, and that there is nothing to regret in the service. I’m sure it must be a great satisfaction to Stanwood’s parents to know how their friends honored him. I never saw such quantities of flowers at any funeral anywhere. It seems to me that the time to talk it over is now while it is fresh in our minds, and that reminds me, Charles, did you see the Breckenridges anywhere? I looked all over for them when we came out but couldn’t seem to find them. They sent such a perfectly lovely wedding gift, that old English sterling platter, you know, that I was sure they’d be at the funeral.