here seemed to be a
compulsion. This may have been partly owing to a change of mind with
regard to Mary as a subject for conversation. She had decided that it
was not good for Benis to talk about Her. Why revive memories that are
best forgotten? She never now disturbed him when he gazed into the
sunset; and when he sighed, as he sometimes did without reason, she did
not ask him why. She had even felt impatient once or twice and, upon
leaving the room abruptly, had banged the door.

So, because Mary was unavailable for discussion, Desire had to think
about her. She had to wonder whether her hair was really? And whether
her eyes really were? She wanted to know. If she could find someone who
had known Mary, some entirely unprejudiced person who would tell her,
she might be able to dismiss the subject from her mind. And surely, in
Bainbridge, there must be someone?

But she had been in Bainbridge a month now. People had called. And she
was still as ignorant as ever. She had been so sure that someone would
mention Mary almost at once. She had felt that people would simply not
be able to refrain from hinting to the bride a knowledge of her
husband's unhappy past. There were so many ways in which it might be
done. Someone might say, "When I heard that Professor Spence was
married, I felt sure that the bride would have dark hair because--oh,
what am I saying! Please, may I have more tea?" But no one, not even
the giddiest flapper of them all, had said even that! Perhaps,
incredible as it might seem, Bainbridge did not know about Mary? She
had been, Desire remembered, a visitor there when Benis met her.
Perhaps her stay had been brief. Perhaps the ill-fated courtship had
taken place elsewhere? Even then, it seemed almost unbelievably stupid
of Bainbridge not to have known something. But of course, she had not
met nearly everybody. This fact lent excitement to the idea of the
reception. Something might be said at any moment.

If not--there was still John. John must know. A man does not keep the
news of a serious love affair from his best friend. Some day, when John
knew her well enough, he might speak, delicately, of that lost romance.
Yes. She would have to cultivate John.

Luckily, John was easily cultivated. He had been quite charming to her
from the very first. He thought of her comfort continually, almost too
continually--but that, no doubt, was medical fussiness. He insisted,
for instance, upon putting wraps about her s