Catherine flew into the study, deaf to Letty's shrill call. It was the Bureau. Her voice, repeating the number, was imperative. She had forgotten that Dr. Roberts might call. The whir of the unanswered instrument pounded on her ear drum. After one. The Bureau was deserted. What _would_ he think! Why, it looked--she pushed the telephone away, dull color sweeping up to her hair. It looked as if she had lied. But it had been so late when Henrietta had come that any thought of the conference had been worn down. She would have to explain, Monday, as if she had been caught malingering. "Hello." Charles stood at the door, uncertainty in his greeting. "What's the verdict? Pest house?" "No." Catherine was jamming the whole dreadful morning out of sight, stamping on the cover--"Henry says it was just indigestion. She's all right." "Did you get down to your meeting?" Catherine shook her head. "Now that's a shame," Charles advanced tentatively. "I hoped Henry would come in time." Easy to say that now, thought Catherine. Then--I won't be ugly. I can't endure it. "I felt an awful brute." Charles threw his arm over her shoulders. "But you saw how it was." "Oh, I saw!" An ironic gleam in Catherine's eyes. "And here Letty didn't need you, anyway. You might even have gone last night." "I must see to her lunch." Catherine twisted out of his arm, adding with a touch of malice--"You know you had a good time." "Oh, fair." Charles was indifferent. "Left me sort of done this morning. Miss Partridge wanted me to thank you for her pleasant evening." "I thought I saw you at the gate just now," said Catherine. "Yes. I just ran into her on my way home." "Don't look at me that way!" Catherine cried out sharply. "What way?" Charles expanded his chest, bristling. "As if you expected to see me--_suspecting_ you!" "Well, good Lord, you sounded as if you thought I'd spent the morning with Stel--Miss Partridge." "I hadn't thought so. Did you?" "Of course not." Charles began, with elaborate patience. "I told you that dissertation committee--" Catherine's laugh interrupted him, and he stared at her. "I don't know what you're trying to do," he said slowly. "I'm sick of this guilty feeling that's fastened on me. Last night because I wanted you to go to the theater, this morning because I had to go to a legitimate meeting. You don't act natural any more." Catherine went quickly back to him, her finger tips resting lightly against his shoulders. "And so he deposited the blame where it wouldn't bother him--on her frail shoulders!" Her eyes, mocking, brilliant in her pale face, met his sulky defiance. "Philander if you must, but don't act as if you'd stolen the jam!" "I'm not philandering." "No, of course he isn't." Catherine brushed her fingers across his cheek. "Not for an instant. Now come, luncheon must be ready." "But I may!" His voice came determinedly after her, as she went into Letty's room, "if I don't have more attention paid to me at home!" VII