"More than two weeks. I've finished Illinois. That's why I'm here to-night. I go on to Ohio at midnight. Homesick? Should I be ashamed not to be? The first day or so, I felt guilty. And I woke up at night, thinking I heard Spencer cry out in his sleep, or Letty. Now I just sleep like a baby--or a spinster." "Henrietta wrote me that they are all O.K. Had a note this morning." "She wrote me, too. Nice old thing, to drop in on them. I do miss them of course. But----" She looked up, a wistful shadow across her eyes. "Bill, I had forgotten how much time there really was in a day. When you could go straight ahead, just doing the things you had planned. Doing one job. You said I'd have two jobs, didn't you? These last weeks I've had one. And I love it! Not forever, of course. But for this month. I feel like a _person_. Sometimes, almost like a personage! People have been very kind, and interested." She was silent as Bill turned to consult with the waitress; for a moment her eyes lingered on his head, dark and gaunt against the firelight, and then looked away at the groups of diners. Early yet, Bill had said. "Well?" Bill watched her. "What a charming gown--like an Indian summer." "Margaret selected it." Catherine stretched one arm along the table, the loose sleeve of golden brown velvet falling softly away from the firm ivory of her wrist. "I was doubtful about the color." "You needn't be." "She bullied me into all sorts of lugs." Catherine laughed. "And I've been glad of it." She hovered delightedly over the tray of hors-d'œuvres. "Like a flower garden!" "A woman runs this place," remarked Bill with apparent irrelevance. "Down in a little southern Illinois town, the wife of one of the college faculty wants to start a tea room. She told me all about it. Her husband doesn't want her to. She says she supposes it isn't very high brow. You know, Bill"--Catherine clasped her hands at the edge of the table--"It's happening everywhere. Women are just busting out. That's been what they've wanted to know about me. How I manage it. It's pitiful, their eagerness. Even their husbands. I went out to dinner one night, and the thing the college president wanted to know was all about how I managed. How many people it took to fill my place, and all the rest. I expected to be told in so many words that I ought to be home with my children." "And you haven't?" "Indirectly, sometimes. But even the most righteous mothers crave information. How do I manage! It's extraordinary. It may have gone to my head. Like strong drink. I know I'm talking too much. But, Bill, you've boiled me over, all this brew, and I have to talk!" "I like it."