"He's left," she said. "He's coming straight from town. He'll be here any minute now." Roger groaned. It occurred to him to send them both to the movies, but somehow the suggestion stuck on his lips. He did not want her at the movies; he wanted her here, where he could look up and know she was by his side. George Tompkins arrived breezily at eight o'clock. "Aha!" he cried reprovingly, coming into the room. "Still at it." Roger agreed coolly that he was. "Better quit--better quit before you have to." He sat down with a long sigh of physical comfort and lit a cigarette. "Take it from a fellow who's looked into the question scientifically. We can stand so much, and then--bang!" "If you'll excuse me"--Roger made his voice as polite as possible--"I'm going up-stairs and finish this work." "Just as you like, Roger." George waved his hand carelessly. "It isn't that I mind. I'm the friend of the family and I'd just as soon see the missus as the mister." He smiled playfully. "But if I were you, old boy, I'd put away my work and get a good night's sleep." When Roger had spread out his materials on the bed up-stairs he found that he could still hear the rumble and murmur of their voices through the thin floor. He began wondering what they found to talk about. As he plunged deeper into his work his mind had a tendency to revert sharply to his question, and several times he arose and paced nervously up and down the room. The bed was ill adapted to his work. Several times the paper slipped from the board on which it rested, and the pencil punched through. Everything was wrong to-night. Letters and figures blurred before his eyes, and as an accompaniment to the beating of his temples came those persistent murmuring voices. At ten he realized that he had done nothing for more than an hour, and with a sudden exclamation he gathered together his papers, replaced them in his portfolio, and went down-stairs. They were sitting together on the sofa when he came in. "Oh, hello!" cried Gretchen, rather unnecessarily, he thought. "We were just discussing you." "Thank you," he answered ironically. "What particular part of my anatomy was under the scalpel?" "Your health," said Tompkins jovially. "My health's all right," answered Roger shortly. "But you look at it so selfishly, old fella," cried Tompkins. "You only consider yourself in the matter. Don't you think Gretchen has any rights? If you were working on a wonderful sonnet or a--a portrait of some madonna or something"--he glanced at Gretchen's Titian hair--"why, then I'd say go ahead. But you're not. It's just some silly advertisement about how to sell Nobald's hair tonic, and if all the hair tonic ever made was dumped into the ocean to-morrow the world wouldn't be one bit the worse for it."