Chapter 7

The slice of a house from that time forward presented the external
aspect to which the inhabitants of the narrow and fashionable
street and those who passed through it had been accustomed. Such
individuals as had anticipated beholding at some early day notices
conspicuously placed announcing "Sale by Auction. Elegant Modern
Furniture" were vaguely puzzled as well as surprised by the fact
that no such notices appeared even inconspicuously. Also there
did not draw up before the door--even as the weeks went on--huge
and heavy removal vans with their resultant litter, their final
note of farewell a "To Let" in the front windows.

On the contrary, the florist came and refilled the window boxes
with an admirable arrangement of fresh flowers; new and even more
correct servants were to be seen ascending and descending the area
step; a young footman quite as smart as the departed Edward opened
the front door and attended Mrs. Gareth-Lawless to her perfect
little brougham. The trades-people appeared promptly every day and
were obsequiously respectful in manner. Evidently the household
had not disintegrated as a result of the death of Mr. Gareth-Lawless.

As it became an established fact that the household had not fallen to
pieces its frequenters gradually returned to it, wearing indeed
the air of people who had never really remained away from it. There
had been natural reasons enough for considerate absence from a
house of bereavement and a desolate widow upon whose grief it would
have been indelicate to intrude. As Feather herself had realized,
the circle of her intimates was not formed of those who could
readily adjust themselves to entirely changed circumstances. If
you dance on a tight rope and the rope is unexpectedly withdrawn,
where are you? You cannot continue dancing until the rope is
restrung.

The rope, however, being apparently made absolutely secure, it
was not long before the dancing began again. Feather's mourning,
wonderfully shading itself from month to month, was the joy of all
beholders. Madame Helene treated her as a star gleaming through
gradually dispersing clouds. Her circle watched her with secretly
humorous interest as each fine veil of dimness was withdrawn.

"The things she wears are priceless," was said amiably in her own
drawing-room. "Where does she get them? Figure to yourself Lawdor
paying the bills."

"She gets them from Helene," said a long thin young man with
a rather good-looking narrow face and dark eyes, peering through
pince nez, "But I couldn't."

In places where entertainment as a means of existence proceed so
to speak, fast and furiously, questions of taste are not dwelt
upon at