... Of
course, if Claire had been introduced to any of these questionable
delights by anybody short of a survivor of the Stillman clan, Mrs.
Robson might have had a misgiving. As it was, she was not above a
certain forewarning sense that made her say with an air of inconsequence
as Claire finished her recital:
"Mrs. Towne tells me that there is a chance that Mr. Stillman's wife may
get well. She's in a private sanitarium, at Livermore, you know." She
stopped to draw up the bedclothes higher. "I do hope it's so!... But I'm
always skeptical about _crazy_ people ever amounting to anything again.
Seems to me they're better off dead."
CHAPTER V
For Claire Robson, there followed after the memorable Condor-Stillman
musicale a period of slack-water. It seemed as if a deadly stagnation
was to poison her existence, so sharp and emphasized was her boredom. On
the other hand, Mrs. Robson seemed to have contrived, from years of
living among arid pleasures, the ability to conserve every happiness
that she chanced upon to its last drop. Claire's invitation to be one of
a distinguished group fed her vanity long after her daughter had outworn
the delights of retrospection. The memory of this incident filled Mrs.
Robson's thoughts, her dreams, her conversation. Gradually, as the days
dragged by, bit by bit, she gleaned detached details of what had
transpired, weaving them into a vivid whole, for the entertainment of
herself and the amazement of her neighbor, Mrs.
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