"I wanted to see you." Catherine poured the cocoa and set it before him. She stood there, one hand spread delicately, the fingers pressed against the oilcloth. "And you--didn't want to see me, did you!" She was supplicating, provocative, leaning above him. "I had to stop with some manuscript, at Miss Partridge's." Charles buttered a slice of bread deliberately, and forked a slice of pink meat to his place. "Is there any Worcestershire?" "And she gave you coffee?" Catherine moved hastily away from the table, and felt blindly along the cupboard shelf for the bottle of sauce. "Yes." Charles was blandly engrossed in his lunch. He's as much as telling me that he chose to go to her, when he wished comfort. Catherine set the Worcestershire beside his plate. I won't hear him. But what a burlesque, my serving him, when I can't, through any outer humility, reach him. "Want more sugar?" She asked, casually. "No. This is fine." His upward glance was puzzled, uneasy. Ah, I have no pride, no decency! she cried to herself. Her heart was beating in suffocating rhythm; her fingers lifted, undirected, aching for the touch of that stubborn, beloved head--the prominent temples, the hollow above the cheekbones, the old intimate brushing across his eyes, down to cup his strong, obdurate chin. "Charles," she whispered, and swayed backward from his sudden violent start, which clattered the carving knife to the floor. "Damn!" he clapped his hand to his jaw. "Oh, damn!" "What is it?" "That tooth. Hell, I've yanked that filling out." He was on his feet, his face contorted under his hand. "Get me some iodine. He said iodine would stop it." The tooth was treated. Charles, a little sheepishly, admitted that the pain was less. "Guess I'll crawl right into bed, before it jumps again. If I can get to sleep----" Catherine filled a hot-water bag and slipped it under his cheek. "That feels fine." He looked up at her. "Thanks." Catherine bent quickly and brushed her lips on his forehead. "Good night," she said steadily. "Go right to sleep." She lay wakeful for a long time. "When I come back," she thought, at last-- She twisted restlessly. "That tooth--I was a little mad, and it destroyed my frenzy. I ought to be glad, and I'm not." * * * * * The hours on Sunday between breakfast and time for her train were telescoped into a band of pressure. Directions to Mrs. O'Lay; final arrangements for her mother; engrossing details devouring the few hours. The taxi was announced. Letty burst into wails because she couldn't go; she had been discovered busily emptying her bureau drawers into an old suitcase. Catherine, distracted, kissed her mother and hurried away, hearing the determined shrieks until the elevator reached the ground floor. Charles, Spencer, and Marian climbed into the taxi after her. "You look lovely," said Marian, over and over, stroking the soft fur at the throat of her jacket. "You look just lovely."