something which had been congealed seemed to turn fluid and alive and golden; something rose into a state that was too calm to be ecstasy.
The next morning, Bunny Whipple's silly, blue-eyed, golden-haired wife was sitting across from her husband at breakfast.
He was white and haggard and shaky. She looked at him, pity in her eyes.
"Have you seen the morning paper, Bunny?" she asked.
"No! Don't want to. More scandal about me, I guess—" he bit the words off savagely.
"Only—that—that woman—" she faltered.
"Diana Manning! All right! What about her?"
"She was found dead last night—by her maid. She had stabbed herself through the heart with a Circassian dagger. The—the papers say that a smile was on her face—a happy, sweet smile—as if—"
She picked up the Star and read the reporter's lyric outburst out loud:
"As if death had brought her happiness and salvation and a deep, calm, glorious fulfillment."
