"Just because I made you buy with a near eye instead of a far eye." Margaret sewed busily. "The middle-class married eye is a far eye, Cathy. It never sees clothes as they are. It sees how they'll look three years hence, and then five years, made over. No wonder you look dubby. Can't ever get style that way." She snapped her thread, and folded the dress over tissue paper. "There, that'll ride. Taking just your steamer trunk?" "And a bag." Catherine pulled her nasturtium silk kimono over her shoulders. "Too many stops for a large trunk. It's good of you to spend your Saturday here. I'd sent off everyone, so that I could get ready in peace. But there are endless things to see to." "You're a handsome thing in that rag, too." Margaret rose from the half full trunk. "Wish I'd found an evening dress that color." "That would have been nice and inconspicuous! And I may not need one. I'll stick this black one in." There was a faint glow on Catherine's cheeks; her dark hair swept in a long curve from brow to heavy coil at the nape of her smooth neck. "Where are the children?" Margaret seized the black dress and folded it dexterously. "At the opera--'Hansel and Gretel.' Mother took them. Miss Kelly has Letty in the park." "Won't they love it!" Margaret whistled the gay little dance melody from the opera. "Do they mind your going?" "Marian thinks it will be rather fun to have Gram here. Spencer wants to go with me." "The lamb! There, those are properly packed. You be careful when you take them out. Now, shoes. No, put that blouse in your handbag." "I declare--" Catherine laughed as Margaret moved competently through the piles. "It's like a trousseau--my second." "That would please the King, I'm sure." Margaret held off a bronze slipper, turning it critically. "Is he as sulky as he acts, Cathy? He said, 'I don't demand external evidence to make me proud of my wife!'" She imitated the dignified resentment of his tone. "He's frightfully busy with papers and things." Catherine bent over her traveling bag. In her throat a soft pulse beat disturbingly. To-night--she thought. Oh, I can't leave him--obdurate, silent. I must break through. "Um." Margaret nodded. Then, suddenly, "I told Mother I thought she had no business siding with him." Catherine faced her, alarmed. "And she as much as said she thought you were endangering your home and future happiness. Poor mother! She can't step out of her generation, I suppose. For all she is such a brick." "Don't put anything into her head, for goodness' sake! She's going to be here while I'm gone. She's fond of Charles." "The only trouble with Charles," declared Margaret, her arms akimbo on her slim hips, "is that he is a man!" "You sound like Amy." "No, I don't. I know he can't help it. You're to blame, partly. You spoiled him rotten for years. He can't get over it in a jiffy. Has that woman got her claws in him? I suppose he's wide open to a vamp."