d
this job, for anybody short of the Angel Gabriel."

"But what shall we do?" she asked despairingly.

"I don't know," said Rodney. "Call them up and tell them. Randolph will
understand."

"But,"--it was absurd that her eyes should be filling up and her throat
getting lumpy over a thing like this,--"but what shall I do? Shall I
tell Eleanor _we_ can't come, or shall I offer to come without you?"

"Lord!" he said, "I don't care. Do whichever you like. I've got enough
to think about without deciding that. Now do hang up and run along."

"But, Rodney, what's happened? Has something gone wrong?"

"Heavens, no!" he said. "What is there to go wrong? I've got a big day
in court to-morrow and I've struck a snag, and I've got to wriggle out
of it somehow, before I quit. It's nothing for you to worry about. Go to
your dinner and have a good time. Good-by."

The click in the receiver told her he had hung up. The difficulty about
the Randolphs was managed easily enough. Eleanor was perfectly gracious
about it and insisted that Rose should come by herself.

She was completely dressed a good three-quarters of an hour before it
was time to start, and after pretending for fifteen interminable minutes
to read a magazine, she chucked it away and told her maid to order the
car at once. If she drove straight down-town, she could have a
ten-minute visit with Rodney and still not be late for the dinner. She
was a little vague as to why she wanted it so much, but the prospect
was irresistible.

If any one had accused her of feeling very meritorious over not having
allowed herself to be hurt at his rudeness to her or annoyed at the way
he had demolished their evening's plans, and of hoping to make him feel
a little contrite by showing him how sweet she was about it, she might,
with a rueful grin, have acknowledged a tincture of truth about the
charge; but she didn't discover it by herself. As she dreamed out the
little scene, riding down-town in the car, she'd come stealing up behind
him as he sat, bent wearily over his book, and clasp her hands over his
eyes and stroke the wrinkles out of his forehead. He'd give a long sigh
of relaxation, and pull her down on the chair-arm and tell her what it
was that troubled him, and she'd tell him not to worry--it was surely
coming out all right. And she'd stroke his head a little longer and
offer not to go to the dinner if he wanted her to stay, and he'd say,
no, he was better already, and then