"You know I wouldn't leave you unless it were important, dearest. I can't explain now, but I may have great news for you when I come home." She hung up the receiver thoughtfully, and turned to an apartment which seemed suddenly dreary and empty. She had no purpose in her day. The twilight hour loomed in prospect an endless, dusky loneliness. For a moment she thought of ringing him up and proposing to meet him downtown for lunch; then restrained the impulse. Was she to turn into a nagging wife! She longed now for some friend with whom she could spend the day; but she could think of none. Since her marriage with Oliver she had not encouraged intimacies. On his account she had estranged the few women to whom she might now have turned. Oliver had never understood friendships among women. The day dragged by. For the first time in months she found herself wishing that she was going out that evening. She thought almost guiltily of David Cannon and Frances Maury, imagining herself in Frances's place. She went to the piano, tried to sing, and realized with dismay that she was sadly out of practice. After all, what did it matter? she decided moodily. Oliver rarely asked her for music. She took up a novel and dozed over it. At eleven o'clock Oliver came home. She knew by the way he opened the front door that the news was good. She ran to meet him; her dullness vanished. He took her by the hand and led her into the softly lit room which seemed suddenly warm again with his presence. Then he whirled her, facing him. Her smile was a happy reflection of his own brightness. "You'll never guess what's happened," he began. "Tell me quickly!" she begged. He waited a moment, with an eye to dramatic effect. "Well, then," he said proudly, "I've been appointed on a special committee of reconstruction in France. Malcolm Wild--you've heard me speak of him--came down from Washington to-day to propose it to me. There are six of us on the committee, and I'm the youngest." "Oliver!" She put into the exclamation something of what he expected, for he seemed satisfied. He lifted his head with a young, triumphant gesture. "It is my chance to do a great and useful work," he said. "I needn't tell you what it means. I never hoped, _I_ never dreamed of such an honour." "I'm so proud of you!" she cried. He hardly seemed to hear her. "Think of it, just think of it--to be invited to go over there with five of the biggest architects here, American money backing us! We've been given a whole section to rebuild; I forget how many villages. It's like a dream." He passed his hand over his eyes. "France!" she heard herself saying. "But, Oliver, it's the work of months." He nodded happily. "That's what it is." "France!" she murmured in a kind of ecstasy. "I'm just getting it." She clasped her hands together. "I've always wanted to be in France with you. My dear, when do we start?" He gave her a swift, bewildered look.