Catherine's color receded in the swift tautening of her body. Margaret need not trample in. "I don't know," she said, stiffly. "Excuse me, old thing." Margaret flung her arm over Catherine's shoulders, and rubbed her warm cheek against her sister's. "Rude of me, I know. We'll change the subject." "I didn't mean to be sniffy." Catherine softened. "I really don't know. I was shocked that you----" "Um. What are my eyes for, little Red Riding Hood? Anyway, it's a darned skilful move of yours, this trip." Down the hall clumped Mrs. O'Lay. Catherine hurried into her old serge dress, Margaret locked and strapped the little trunk, and Catherine closed the traveling bag. "Have to finish that to-morrow." Miss Kelly came, with Letty. Margaret carried the child off into the dining room for her supper, while Catherine sat down with Miss Kelly for a final discussion of the weeks she would be gone. "Eve made out this mailing list--" she finished, "and bought enough postal cards to last. If you would send me one every night--" She gazed at the sandy-fringed, calm blue eyes, at the firm, homely mouth. "I'm sure they will be happy and well, with you." "I think so, Mrs. Hammond." Not a quaver of uneasiness in her voice. You might suppose I went off every week, thought Catherine. Letty was in bed, Margaret had gone, and Miss Kelly, before Mrs. Spencer and the children arrived. Catherine listened to their delighted rehearsing of the story. Marian tried to hum one of the songs; Catherine couldn't recall the exact melody. And under the outer pressure ran the slow, warm flood of waiting, waiting until Charles should come in. What she could say or do she did not know. But anything, anything! "Will I serve up the soup, Mrs. Hammond?" Mrs. O'Lay was reproachful. "It's half after six." "Mr. Hammond should be in any minute." The telephone shrilled into her waiting. "That you, Catherine? I'm at the dentist's. Got a devil of a toothache. Don't wait for me. He's out at dinner, but he's coming in to see to the tooth. No, it's that upper tooth, where the filling was loose." They dined without Charles. "Poor fellow!" Mrs. Spencer was gently sympathetic. "There's nothing so upsetting as the toothache." Some truth in that, thought Catherine, as she sat in Charles's chair and served. A special dinner, too. If the tooth still ached when he came home-- The intangible hope which had grown in her through the day was too fragile to withstand such disaster. Perhaps--was he at the dentist's? Was there an aching tooth? She glanced up in a flurry of guilt at a question from her mother. How despicable of her, dropping into suspicion. Spencer was watching her. He was too sensitized, too immediately aware of moods. It would be good for him, perhaps, to live without her for a time. She brushed away the under-thoughts, and held herself resolutely above the surface of their talk.