l to bawl you out. But maybe we'll do business together some other
way."

As he drove his tin runabout homeward, Henry was unusually downcast.
He didn't blame Standish--Standish had showed himself over and over
to be Henry's best friend on earth. But it was dispiriting to
realize how Standish must privately appraise him. Henry recalled the
justification, and grew red to think of the ten years of their
acquaintance--ten years of continuous achievement for Standish, and
only a few months of compulsory display for himself. But he wished
that Standish hadn't thrown in that last remark about doing
business together some other way. That wasn't like Bob, and it hurt.
It was too infernally commercial.

He found the apartment deserted. His shout of welcome wasn't answered:
his whistle, in the private code which everybody uses, met with dead
silence. Henry hung up his hat with considerable pique, and lounged
into the living-room. What excuse had Anna to be missing at the
sacred hour of his return? Didn't she know that the happiest moment of
his whole day was when she came flying into his arms as soon as he
crossed the threshold? Didn't she know that as the golden pheasants
fled further and further into the thicket of unreality, the more
active was his need of her? He wondered where she had gone, and what
had kept her so late. Was this a precedent, and had the first veneer
of their companionability worn off so soon--for Anna?

A new apprehension seized him, and he hurried from room to room to see
if instead of censuring Anna, he ought to censure himself. There were
so many accidents that might have happened to her. Women have been
burned so severely as to faint: they have drowned in a bathtub: they
have fallen down dumb-waiter shafts: they have been asphyxiated when
the gas-range went out. And to think that only a moment ago, he had
been vexed with her. The sight of each room, once so hideously
commonplace, now so charming with Anna's artistry and the work of her
own hands--her beautiful hands which ought to be so cared for--filled
him with contrition and fresh nervousness.

No, she had escaped these tragedies--yet she was missing. Missing,
but now half an hour late. And downtown there were dangerous
street-crossings, and dangerous excavations, and reckless motorists....
Once in a while a structural-iron worker dropped a rivet from the
seventh story; and there were kidnappers abroad.... The key turned in
the lock, and Henry d