Ida had not come down yet, and the telephone was on a table in the corner, beside a vase of flowers. When I saw the flowers I knew I was saved. I turned the vase over and let the water soak into the green cord that covers the wires. I knew it would short-circuit the telephone, for once one of the maids at home, washing the floor, had wet the cord, and we were cut off for an entire day. During the afternoon I gave Harry Delaney the letter to Bill. Harry was going to the little town that was the post office to get something for Carrie. "You won't forget to mail it, will you, Harry?" I asked in a pathetic voice. He read the address and looked at me. "What are you writing to Bill for, Clara? He'll be home in the morning." I looked confused. Then I became frank. "I'm writing him something I don't particularly care to tell him." He fairly groaned and thrust the thing into his pocket. "For refined cruelty and absolute selfishness," he said, "commend me to the woman with nothing to do but to get into mischief." "Will you promise to mail it?" "Oh, I'll mail it all right," he said; "but I give you until six o'clock this evening to think it over. I'm not going to the station until then." "To think over what?" I asked, my eyes opened innocently wide. But he flung away in a fury. It was rather fun that afternoon. If my party had been dreary on Sunday it was nothing to Carrie's. They'd clearly all agreed to stay round and keep Roger and me apart. Everybody sulked, and the men got the Sunday newspapers and buried themselves in them. Once I caught Roger dropping into a doze. He had refused the paper and had been playing up well, sitting back in his chair with his cap over his eyes and gazing at me until everybody wiggled. "Roger," I called, when I saw his eyes closing, "are you game for a long walk?" Roger tried to look eager. "Sure," he said. "Haven't you a particle of humanity?" Carrie demanded. She knew some of them would have to go along, and nobody wanted to walk. It was boiling. "He has been up since dawn and he's walked miles." Roger ignored her. "To the ends of the world--with you, Clara," he said, and got up. In the end they all went. It was a tragic-looking party. We walked for miles and miles, and Carrie was carrying her right shoe when we got back. It was too late to dress for dinner, and everyone was worn out. So we went in as we were. "I'm terribly sorry it's nearly over," I babbled as the soup was coming in. "It has been the most wonderful success, hasn't it? Ida, won't you have us all next week? Maybe we can send the husbands to the yacht races." "Sorry," said Ida coldly; "I've something else on."