“I think I’ll be able to come after all,” he said to John. XXXV The day before the dinner Lucy went shopping and purchased a ready-made dinner dress and some rouge. “You’re looking so well, dear Mrs. Winter,” remarked Miss Powell, the next night when the guests were arriving. Lucy’s gown was a white demi-toilette and her hair was dressed high. Her cheeks glowed brightly. When Jim came he shook hands with kindly formality. “I’m glad to see you looking better,” he said to Lucy. “Thank you,” she replied, smiling. When the dinner was over and the ladies had retired to the living room, Doctor Hamilton, who had moved next to Jim, offered him a cigar. “You’re getting thin, young man,” the doctor observed. “I expect you’re working too hard.” Jim took the cigar. “See here, Doctor,” he replied in a joking tone, “you can’t get a new patient here. I’m feeling as fine as silk.” “Well, don’t work too hard.” Doctor Hamilton lighted his own cigar. Soon the hired waiter came to the table. “A telephone message for Mr. Sprague,” he announced. “Now you’re trying to make me jealous,” laughed the doctor. “If you were a colleague I’d accuse you of trying to make us think you had more patients than I.” Jim rose and went to the hall. “Hello!” he called, taking up the receiver. “This is Mr. Sprague speaking.” “I’ve called you up as you asked, Jim.” It was Miss Storms’ voice. “Is everything all right?” “I’ll be there in about half an hour,” he answered, his tone louder than necessary, and hung up the receiver. “I’m sorry to interrupt such a pleasant evening.” He approached the table and addressed John. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave.” “Excuse me,” apologized John to the others, and he stepped to the living room door. “Lucy!” he motioned to her. “Mr. Sprague is called away. He’s going.” “I’m so sorry you couldn’t stay,” she declared, extending her hand. “I too,” responded Jim, “but it was very nice of you to let me come.” Taking his hat and coat he went out to catch the train. “Excuse me a minute.” Lucy smiled to the other ladies. “I must run up and see if my baby is asleep.” Once in her room she sat down by the dressing table and cried a little, her face hidden in her hands. Suddenly she lifted her head. After carefully examining her eyes in the mirror she put a tiny bit more rouge on her cheeks, patted her hair, and returned to her guests. When the male visitors joined the ladies, John seated himself by Miss Powell. She wore an old gold evening gown that displayed her handsome shoulders, and she turned her dark eyes on him. “I hear you are quite an artist, Mr. Winter,” she commented agreeably. “Mrs. Merwent told me you were responsible for these lovely pictures.” She nodded toward the water colors on the wall. “I’ve admired them so much.” “Well, Miss Powell, ‘artist’ is a big word, but I can say that I am interested in art.”