Indiana rang for her maid, and dressed in feverish haste. She wished to leave the house without coming in contact again with Thurston. Slipping quietly down the stairs, she saw a light in his den. The door was not quite closed, and she peeped through the crack. He was sitting at his table, reading, in a patient attitude, his head propped on his hand. She passed the door, then, moved by a sudden impulse, went back and looked at him again. There was something which appealed to her in the solitary figure sitting there, in a pose so passive as to almost suggest hopelessness. She noticed the touch of gray in his hair, under the lamplight—that, too, appealed to her. She felt vaguely that his was not the face of a happy man, and also, in a vague sense, her conscience reproached her for being responsible. She remembered they had always been together since their marriage. Neither had taken any pleasure apart. She would have liked to have kissed him good-night, and gone with his sanction—but, she told herself, that would be impossible to gain. With an involuntary sigh she sped down to the library. Glen was still sitting, his face buried in his hands. The photograph had fallen on the floor. "Here I am, Glen," throwing her white wrap in his lap. "It’s not necessary to ask you how I look. I’ve completely stunned you." He looked at her with worshipping eyes. She had donned an airy, diaphanous white gown, and her cheeks were glowing, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You’ve been looking at my new photo. Do you like it?" "Oh, so-so," he answered, indifferently. "Now I’m going to leave a message for Thurston." She sat down to the table and drew some writing materials towards her. Then she gnawed the end of the pen in some perplexity, looking a little grave. "You’re afraid," said Glen. "You’re sorry—you’d like to back out." "Not at all," answered Indiana, drawing herself up indignantly. "I know just what my husband will do. He won’t say a word to anyone—he’ll jump in a cab and follow me." "And then—a family row." "Not at all. My husband is too high-bred for any public display of feeling. He’ll look cold and proud, I’ll quiver my eyelids—and—he’ll kiss me—that’s all." She smiled triumphantly as she scribbled a hasty note. "I know," agreed Glen, with a sigh. "You could soften anything—even stone." "Do you know that my husband is an H.F.R.G.S.?" sealing the note. "Is he? You quite astonish me." "Now, what is it? Of course you don’t know. Honorary Fellow Royal Geographical Society. They want him to lead an expedition to the North Pole. If I had said ’no,’ he would have gone. It was a toss-up." "What a shame he didn’t go," remarked Glen, shaking his head dolefully. "What a loss to science! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" He laughed so heartily, Indiana felt obliged to join him. "How jolly I am!" he thought, bitterly. "Oh, I’m so excited!" exclaimed Indiana. "I love uncertainty of any kind."