He had. When they had gone, and Catherine was supervising the children's preparations for bed, she still had the feeling of the evening; she had pulled her chair into the dining room, to watch them; Bill had looked up at her at long intervals, with a faint, queer smile in his eyes; he had said nothing, except to offer solemn, technical advice, simplified to meet Spencer's eagerness. "I'm going to be a nengineer," said Spencer sleepily, as she bent over him. "An' build things." "I want to be one, too," called Marian. "You can't! You're only a girl." "Mr. Bill said I could if I wanted to. He said I could be anything." "So you can." Catherine tucked her in gently. "But you have to go to sleep first." At eleven Catherine telephoned to the station, to ask about trains from Washington. No express before morning. Charles wouldn't take a local; he must have decided to take a sleeper. She set the sandwiches she had made for him away in the ice chest. No use worrying. She had to have some sleep, for to-morrow. Had Bill seen him, Friday afternoon? She hated the queer way waiting held you too tight, as if you were hung up by your thumbs. Charles might have wired her. But he knew she never meant to worry. She was half conscious, all through the night, of the emptiness of his bed, opposite hers. Once she woke, thinking she heard the door click. She sprang up in bed to listen. Nothing but the constant, faint cacophony of city sounds. It must be almost morning--that was the rattle of ash cans. III Astonishing how much less hurried the morning seemed, with no Charles shaving in the bathroom, shouting out inquiries about his striped shirt, his bay rum--he had a blind spot for the thing he wanted at the moment. We need two bathrooms, thought Catherine. I've spoiled Charles. Breakfast, too, was more leisurely; none of the last-minute scramble, no sudden longing for crisp bacon, after the toast was made and the eggs were boiled. There was time, actually, for a manicure. Flora appeared promptly at eight, her Monday face lugubrious. "Sunday's fearful exhausting, Mis' Hammond," she said, as Catherine finished the consultation about dinner. "It's the most exhaustin'est day us working women has, I thinks." "And when Mr. Hammond comes, be sure to ask him if he wishes breakfast, Flora. He may have had it on the train." "Sure, I'll ask him. You run along and quit your worry, Mis' Hammond."