Mr. Gilson speculated intensely, "But she's the dullest soul on earth, and her husband spends all his spare time in trying to think up ways of doing me dirt in business. Oh, by the way, did you get the water tap in the blue room fixed? It's dripping all the time." "No, I forgot it." "Well, I _do_ wish you'd have it attended to. It simply drips all the time." "I know. I intended to 'phone the plumber---- Can't you 'phone him tomorrow, from the office?" "No, I haven't time to bother with it. But I do wish you would. It keeps on dripping----" "I know, it doesn't seem to stop. Well, you remind me of it in the morning." "I'm afraid I'll forget. You better make a note of it. If it keeps on dripping that way, it's likely to injure something. And I do wish you'd tell the Jap not to put so much parsley in the omelet. And I say, how would an omelet be with a butter sauce over it?" "Oh, no, I don't think so. An omelet ought to be nice and dry. Butter makes it so greasy--besides, with the price of butter----" "But there's a richness to butter---- You'd better make a note about the tap dripping in the blue room right now, before you forget it. Oh! Why in heaven's name did we have Johnny Martin here? He's dull as ditchwater----" "I know, but---- It is nice to go out to his place on the Point. Oh, Gene, I do wish you'd try and remember not to talk about your business so much. You and Mr. Martin were talking about the price of lumber for at least half an hour----" "Nothing of the kind. We scarcely mentioned it. Oh! What car are you going to use this afternoon? If we get out to the Barnetts', I thought we might use the limousine---- Or no, you'll probably go out before I do, I have to read over some specifications, and I promised to give Will a lift, couldn't you take the Loco, maybe you might drive yourself, no, I forgot, the clutch is slipping a little, well, you might drive out and send the car back for me--still, there wouldn't hardly be time----" Listening to them as to a play, Claire suddenly desired to scream, "Oh, for heaven's sake quit fussing! I'm going up and drown myself in the blue-room tap! What does it matter! Walk! Take a surface car! Don't fuss so!" Her wrath came from her feeling of guilt. Yes, Milt had been commonplace. Had she done this to him? Had she turned his cheerful ignorances into a careful stupor? And she felt stuffy and choking and overpacked with food. She wanted to be out on the road, clear-headed, forcing her way through, an independent human being--with Milt not too far behind. Mrs. Gilson was droning, "I do think Mattie Vincent is so nice." "Rather dull I'd call her," yawned Mr. Gilson. Mattie was the seventh of their recent guests whom he had called dull by now.