hand, it might . . . it might. Well, well, Madame Claire told herself, she wouldn't raise a finger to bring it about. But she meant the girl to have a breathing space . . . time to think, and a new environment to think in. If she herself had had that at a certain period of her own life. . . .
She was expecting Eric this afternoon between five and six. Eric and Louise . . . there was a problem for her untangling! Two charming people—for Louise could be charming—who were at heart fond of each other, and yet were utterly at cross purposes. Madame Claire held the remarkable belief that no problem existed without its solution—however difficult that solution might be to come by—just as she believed that every poison had its antidote, and every evil its complementary good. Why, then, couldn't she think of a way to bring those two together? Louise's mind wanted prying open. It had closed on its jealousies as a pitcher plant closes on its food. Nothing that was in could get out, and nothing that was out could get in. An unfortunate state of affairs!
Eric came in bringing with him something fresh and vital that always seemed to accompany him. Judy called it his aura. He was quick in
