"Walter wanted Spencer to come out for a few days this vacation. Be so nice for him to get into the country. But Percy had a little sore throat, and of course with children you never know what that may mean. I told him perhaps between semesters--the children always have a few days then." "That's very kind of you." Catherine heard the determined phrases Charles set forth: "The poetic mind is never intellectual. Always purely emotional, intuitive, governed by associative processes." She felt that her smile was a mawkish simper. "To think of adding another child to your household." "I'll tell Walter, then, that perhaps in February." And presently, Mr. Thomas, blinking behind his glasses, turned his gentle smile toward Catherine. "We hear great things of you, Mrs. Hammond." "Oh, yes." Mrs. Thomas nodded. Catherine felt the quick stiffening of attention, and thought, here's what they came in for. What is it? She flung out her hand to ward off danger, but unsuspectingly Mr. Thomas hurled his bomb. "Dr. Roberts tells us you've been appointed field investigator. He is particularly enthusiastic about it. You deserve congratulations." "But, dear Mrs. Hammond, are you really going? I said to Mr. Thomas I couldn't believe it unless you told me yourself." Catherine rushed pell-mell into words. She must stir up enough dust to hide Charles's face, to keep him silent. "It isn't really settled. Dr. Roberts asked me to go, but I haven't agreed, as yet. Interesting, of course, fascinating." She saw, breathlessly, the little glance of triumph Mrs. Thomas sent her husband. "I said I didn't see how a mother could leave her family." "Only for a short time, of course. Don't you think we all need some kind of respite?" "Well, I remember the doctor sent me to Atlantic City, after Dorothy's birth." And Mrs. Thomas related with gusto her homesickness, her dire imaginings each hour of absence. "You never know what might happen! Even now, I can't help wondering if they are covered warmly enough, although Mrs. Bates promised to stay till we came home." Inconsequential, drifting bits of conversation--the minutes until they should go were thin wires, drawing Catherine to the brink of the whirlpool. Charles was laboriously talkative, and she heard the rushing of his winds of grievance. They were going! "You'll send Spencer out, then, some day. He could come with Mr. Thomas. For a week-end, say. Walter would be so pleased." And then, as they stood in the hall, Mr. Thomas dropped another bomb. "You haven't decided, I suppose, about that western position, Hammond? Your husband was talking it over with me at luncheon one day," he added to Catherine. "There's something gratifying in the idea of controlling a department and the entire policy, I think." It was Charles's turn now to hurry into words, vague, temporizing words.