“—­because I’ve had enough of Bowman, and enough of this city, and all I ask is to run away with you, and never think of rehearsals and routes and all the rest of it in my life again!” Magsie was saying.  Presently she seemed to notice his silence, for she asked abruptly:  “Where’s Rachael?”

Warren roused himself from deep thought.

“At the Long Island house; at Clark’s Hills.”

“Oh!” Magsie, who was now seated opposite him, clasped her hands girlishly about her knees.  “What is the plan, Greg?” she asked vivaciously.

“Her plan?” Warren said clearing his throat.

“Our plan!” Magsie amended contentedly.  And she summarized the case briskly:  “Rachael consents to a divorce, we know that.  I am not going on with Bowman, I’ve decided that.  Now what?” She eyed his brooding face curiously.  “What shall I do, Greg?  I suppose we oughtn’t to see each other as we did last summer?  If Rachael goes West—­and I suppose she will—­shall I go up to the Villalongas’?  They’re terribly nice to me; and I think Vera suspects—–­”

“What makes you think she does?” Warren asked, feeling as if a hot, dry wind suddenly smote his skin.

“Because she’s so nice to me!” Magsie answered triumphantly.  “Rachael’s been just a little snippy to Vera,” she confided further, “or Vera thinks she has.  She’s not been up there for ages!  I could tell Vera—–­”

Warren’s power of reasoning was dissipated in an absolute panic.  But George had primed him for this talk.  He assumed an air of business.

“There are several things to think of, Magsie,” he said briskly, “before we can go farther.  In the first place, you must spend the summer comfortably.  I’ve arranged for that—­”

He handed her a small yellow bank-book.  Magsie glanced at it; glanced at him.

“Oh, Greg, dear, you’re too generous!”

“I’m not generous at all,” he answered with an honest flush.  “I know what I am now, Magsie, I’m a cad.”

“Who says you’re a cad?” Magsie demanded indignantly.

“I say so!” he answered.  “Any man is a cad who gets two women into a mess like this!”

“Greg, dear, you shan’t say so!” Her slender arms were about his neck.

“Well—­” He disengaged the arms, and went on with his planning.  “George Valentine is going to see Rachael,” he proceeded.

“About the divorce?” said Magsie with a nod.

“About the whole thing.  And George thinks I had better go away.”

“Where?” demanded Magsie.

“Oh, travelling somewhere.”

“Rio?” dimpled Magsie.  “You know you have always had a sneaking desire to see Rio.”

Warren smiled mechanically.  It had been Rachael’s favorite dream “when the boys are big enough!” His sons—­were they bathing this minute, or eagerly emptying their blue porridge bowls?