"Poor boy." Catherine rushed to the sewing table in the corner. "I'll sew 'em on if your wife won't." Ridiculous, enchanting. She pulled him down beside her on the bed, seized the coat, burying her knuckles against the hard warmth of his chest. "Don't wriggle, or you'll have it sewed to your diaphragm." Charles was silent. Catherine's wrist flexed slowly with the drawing of the thread. It's like weaving a spell, she thought, with secret passes of my hand, to melt that hard resentment he won't admit. She broke the thread and glanced up. Charles, with a quick motion, laid his cheek against the sweet darkness of her hair. "First time you've so much as seen me since you came back," he said. "Too bad about you!" Catherine jeered softly. XI "It's the Thomases on the 'phone." Charles came out of the study. "They want us to come out this afternoon to see their house." "Out where?" Catherine looked up from her book, while Spencer and Marian fidgeted for the reading to continue. "Croton. They've moved, you know. Bought a farm." "Walter Thomas?" asked Spencer. "Has he got a farm?" "Thomas says there are trains every hour, and we can stay for Sunday-night supper." "But the children----" "I thought your mother was coming in." "She may not wish to stay late." "Well, you'll have to decide. Thomas is waiting. It would be rather nice to get out of town for a few hours." Catherine's brows drew together. "We're all right," said Marian. "Go on away!" "Yes, you are." Catherine sighed briefly. Charles had his air of "Are you going to deprive me of a pleasant hour?" "You wouldn't go without me?" she asked. "Tell Mr. Thomas that if mother wishes to stay, we'll come. We can telephone him."