herself saying. So they had been
talking of Acton and Leslie, she thought. Leslie was spoiled, and Acton
was extravagant, and the united families had been just a little worried
about their attitudes toward each other. Mrs. Melrose was sure that
Norma was right, and rambled along the same topic for some time. Then
Norma realized that they had somehow gotten around to Theodore, Leslie's
father. This subject was always good for half hours together, she could
safely ramble a little herself. The deadly weight fell upon her spirit
again. What had been the matter with Chris?

At nine o'clock her tired old companion began preparations for bed, and
Norma, catching up some magazines, went into her own room. She could
hear Regina and Mrs. Melrose murmuring together, the running of water,
the opening and shutting of bureau drawers.

Norma went to her open window, leaned out into the warm and brilliant
night. There was a hot moon, moving between clouds that promised, at
last, a break in the binding heat. Down the Avenue below her omnibuses
wheeled and rumbled, omnibuses whose upper seats were packed with thinly
clad passengers, but otherwise there was little life and movement
abroad. A searchlight fanned the sky, fell and wavered upward again. A
hurdy-gurdy, in the side street, poured forth the notes of the
"Marseillaise."

Suddenly, and almost without volition, the girl snatched the telephone,
and murmured a number. Thought and senses seemed suspended while she
waited.

"Is this the Metropolitan Club? Is Mr. Christopher Liggett there?... If
you will, please. Thank you. Say that it is a lady," said Norma, in a
hurried and feverish voice. The operator would announce presently, of
course, that Mr. Liggett was not there. The chance that he was there was
so remote----

"Chris!" she breathed, all the tension and doubt dropping from her like
a garment at the sound of his quiet tones. "Chris--this is Norma!"

A pause. Her soul died within her.

"What is it?" Chris asked presently, in a repressed voice.

"Well--but were you playing cards?"

"No."

"You've had your dinner, Chris?"

"No. Yes, I had dinner, of course. I dined with Aunt Marianna--no, that
was lunch! I dined here."

"Chris," Norma faltered, speaking quickly as her courage ebbed, "I
didn't want to interrupt you, but you seemed so--so different, this
afternoon. And I didn't want to have you cross at me; and I
wondered--I've been wondering ever since--if I have don