Catherine's heart began to beat quickly. He is wretched about something, she thought. Bothered. But he wants to pretend. Marian whisked back, jumping about it. "It's all right! She says sure!" "Then you wait at the door. Don't let them guess," and he stalked off, leaving Marian solemn in her delight, stationed at the door. "Chwismas!" shouted Letty. But Marian shooed her out of the hall when Daddy returned. Dinner had caught the slight tingling mood of a special occasion. Charles was deliberately jolly, and the children responded in expansive delight. Excitement moved pleasantly into Catherine, too, in spite of her sober, concealed thoughts. That other dinner, ages ago, with the children responsive then to the contention between her and Charles. The friendly enclosure of the room, with Letty at her left, Charles across from her, the other two--and Mrs. O'Lay waddling in and out. Above all, Spencer, safely clear of that dark threat. "Well, it's the first time we've had a jolly dinner party for a long time, eh, Cathy?" Ah, that was the thing she feared, ironically, under the bright surface, that Charles was building again; not a trap, exactly, nor a prison, but a net, a snare. This was to be proof, this scene, that they must have her, wholly. That her life dwelt only within such walls as these. That her desires, even, were held here. Her eyes were bright and troubled. The secret came. Ice cream and chocolate sauce. "Now it's a real party," sighed Marian, contentedly. "And I thought it up." The telephone rang. Charles sprang to his feet, dropping his napkin as he hurried out. "Why," asked Spencer, "does Daddy always have to hustle when the 'phone rings?" "Because he has important business, because he's a man," said Marian, promptly. "It might be for me." Spencer was hopeful. "No!" Marian derided him. "Folks don't telephone little boys." Astonishing. Catherine looked at Marian's calm profile. Where did she pick up her perfect feminine attitude? Instinct, or a parroting of some one, Miss Kelly, or her grandmother? "Catherine!" Charles was calling. "Some one wants you." "Now! It wasn't Daddy at all." Spencer was triumphant. "Move along into the living room," said Catherine, rising. "Mrs. O'Lay is waiting to clear the table." Then, as she sat down at the desk, she had a hasty, random thought. Stella Partridge hadn't called for Charles once these past weeks. Perhaps that hint of Henrietta's--Margaret's voice cut in. "Hello! You back?" Catherine settled herself comfortably. "Just in. Everything all right? I've been talking with Henrietta." "Yes. Really all right. Spencer had a party to-night, his first dinner with the family." "Could I see him to-morrow?" "Of course. Where have you been, anyway? Mother was vague." "Trip for the firm. To their factories in Boston and Pittsburgh. Cathy, what a shame your tour was interrupted! When do you go back?"