"You’re a darling!" said Camilla softly. "You’re very much more womanly than you want people to think you are. Why should you take such a delight in _these_?" Camilla laid a hand on the wicker basket beside her.
Rita took up one of the tiny garments and examined it with minute interest.
"It’s very pretty, isn’t it? But quite silly. Imagine anything so tiny! What a lot of trouble you take. And you’ve made them all yourself. They’re really exquisite."
"They’re Art’s tribute to Nature, Rita," said Camilla with an air of finality.
"My mission in life is ended, Camilla. I’m quite sure of it now. You’ve convinced me. I’m actually envious of a woman who sits by the fire and sews baby-clothes. Your industry is a reproach—your smile a reproof and your happiness a condemnation. I know you’re right. You’ve really solved the problem, and I haven’t. I never will. I’m past that now. I’m going to grow old ungracefully, yielding the smallest fraction of an inch at a time to the inevitable. I’m going to be stout, I know it—and probably dumpy. I could weep, Camilla."
"Who’s talking of weeping here?" said a voice. And General Bent, with his stick, came thumping in. "Oh—you, Rita?" he laughed. "Women never cry unless there’s something to be gained by it." Rita offered him her cheek, and Camilla rang for tea. In a moment Mrs. Rumsen came in.
"I knew you were here, Rita," she said, bending her tall figure for a caress.
"Teddy Wetherby’s machine—at the corner—and Teddy."
"Is he waiting still? Such a nice boy—but absolutely oblivious of the passage of time."
"I thought you’d given up your kindergarten, Rita," put in Camilla, laughing.
"I have. But Teddy is my prize pupil. He’s taking a post-graduate course." And, when they all laughed at her, she turned on them severely. "I won’t have you laughing at Teddy. He’s really an angel."
"I’m going to tell his mother," said Mrs. Rumsen.
Rita took her tea cup and sank back in her chair absently. "Oh, well—perhaps you’d better," she said. "I’m going in for square-toed shoes and settlement meetings."
The General grunted and sipped his Scotch, but when Jeff and Cortland came in the women were still laughing at Mrs. Cheyne. Jeff walked across the room to his wife and kissed her.