Her Infinite Variety by Louis Auchincloss, Louis S. Auchincloss

could jump it. This war has taken a heavy toll on our moral senses, and a lot of things have happened that had better now be swept under the rug. No, my trouble is that I'm afraid that Trevor's and Clara's marriage has come apart at the seams. It's not only that they have ceased to be in love with each other; that might not be a hopeless objection to a reconciliation. But, much worse, they have ceased to have any goals or interests in common. Clara is all for her job now: new friends, new enthusiasms, a whole new world. And Trevor doesn't care for that world; he has a big enough one of his own. They're thoroughly incompatible. Surely you must see that."
    "But with a little effort, a little compromise, on both sides?"
    "That is what I originally hoped for, especially from Clara. I saw from the beginning that she had a strong will of her own, but I thought she might exercise it in a way that would push her and Trevor together as a team. But now she's got the bit in her teeth and she's going her own way. God bless her—I hope she goes far!"
    "I don't see how far she'll go on a fashion editor's pay."
    Charlotte blinked in surprise. "Well, I certainly give your daughter credit for not trying to hold my son up in one of those seamy alimony suits, but I hadn't thought she was reduced to what she earned on her magazine."
    "What else will she get?"
    "It's not what she gets, my dear; it's what she keeps. When they were married I put a considerable sum in their joint names. Trevor tells me they've agreed to split that between them. But even half of it should make her quite comfortable."
    Violet concealed her surprise. Clara had not mentioned this, and she had assumed that the whole had reverted to her husband. Half was still a hefty sum, but the whole would go far to ameliorate Clara's position in the world. Violet held her breath as her mind raced. Surely Charlotte must have known that even if the family fortune was still firmly held by the older generation and immune to a daughter-in-law's grabs, the Hoyts were getting off cheaply. A nasty lawsuit could be embarrassing to ultrarespectable bankers.
    "Couldn't Trevor let her have the whole of that sum?" she asked at last.
    "Why should he? It seems to me that, under all the circumstances, he's being adequately generous."
    "How about this, Charlotte? Suppose they both put that money in trust for Clara's life, with income to her and the principal on her death to Sandra?"
    Charlotte's immediate expressionlessness was evidence that this proposition was receiving her serious consideration. "How about on Clara's death or remarriage? I know my husband would object to any family money finding its way into the pockets of a stranger spouse."
    "Fair enough."
    "Well, I'll see what I can do. Though it may make something of an heiress of my granddaughter before we find her quite ready."
    "Why do you say that?"
    "Because the lovely Clara won't stay unmarried for long."
    "Neither will your handsome and brilliant son."
    Charlotte smiled, with a touch of smugness. Almost untouchable by flattery herself, she yet yielded to the pleasure of hearing any compliment to her sole male heir. "There's something in what you say there. I shouldn't be talking out of school, but you and I are such old friends that I don't mind telling you that he's already seeing a good deal of Rosie Felton."
    "And who is she? Some young lovely, I suppose."
    "She was Rosie Cabot. From Boston, of course. She always had a crush on Trevor, but when he married your Clara she tried to console herself with a very dear but rather dull young man called Ed Felton, who went down with his destroyer when it was sunk off the Solomons. She has a bit overdone the mourning part, but those, we know, are the first to recover. I don't think she's ever really been out of love with Trevor, and now they seem to be getting on very well. Those Back Bay blue bloods are very skillful in seeming modern when they haven't basically changed at all. Oh, for