When he had gone, Catherine hovered a moment at the telephone. No use calling her mother; she wouldn't be able to come up from Fiftieth Street in time to do any good. She sat down at the desk, her hands spread before her, her eyes on her wrist watch. Henrietta might still come. The minutes were thick, cold liquid, dripping, dripping. Letty's loud call summoned her, and she hunted up the dingy cotton duck, while that slow, cold drip, drip continued. Half past nine. The minutes split into seconds, heavy, cold, dripping seconds. Time could drive you mad, thought Catherine, while the seconds dripped upon her, if you waited for it long enough. It was almost ten when she telephoned the Bureau. Dr. Roberts' neat accents vibrated at her ear. "I am sorry," she said, "but I cannot get away. One of the children is ill. I've been waiting for the doctor. You have the final sheets and graphs I made, haven't you? There's a list of questions and notes in the left drawer of my desk. I regret this. If you wish any explanation of the graphs, please call me." He sounded abrupt, irritated, under his perfunctory regret. As Catherine hung away her hat and coat, she felt a cold, heavy weight back of her eyes, deep in her throat. Time had lodged there! I can't sit down and cry, she thought. No wonder he is angry. It's my business to be on hand. She had once, swimming at low tide, found herself in a growth of kelp, the strong wet masses tangling about her frightened struggles. Charles had dragged her out, to clear green water and safety. She laughed, and pressed her fist again against her mouth. He wouldn't drag her out of this tangle, not he! She sat beside Letty, reading to her, when Dr. Henrietta finally came. "Catherine! You stayed!" Her round face set in dismay. "I tried once to call you. That baby died, the one we delivered last night. I've been working there." "I knew you'd come when you could." Catherine pushed her chair away from the bed. Henrietta pulled off her coat, pushed up her cuffs from her firm wrists, and bent over Letty. "She's all right," she said, presently. "Just a touch of stomach upset last night. That's good." "Ducky sick." Letty waved her limp bird at Henrietta. "Keep him very quiet, then." Henrietta poked the duck down beside Letty, and shook herself briskly into her coat. Catherine followed her into the hall. "I might as well have gone down to the office." She was ironic. "Exactly. I'm awfully sorry, Catherine, that I am so late. It's almost noon, isn't it? I thought I could keep life in that little rag." Her eyes looked hot and tired. "But I couldn't. Just keep Letty from tearing around too much to-day. She'll be sound as a whistle to-morrow again." "Well, at least we escaped a plague." Catherine leaned against the wall, inert, dull. "Wouldn't Charles stay?" Henrietta peered at her. "Too busy, eh? Well, Monday you'll be free as air again." "I wonder."