He found the apartment deserted. His shout of welcome wasn't answered: his whistle, in the private code which everybody uses, met with dead silence. Henry hung up his hat with considerable pique, and lounged into the living-room. What excuse had Anna to be missing at the sacred hour of his return? Didn't she know that the happiest moment of his whole day was when she came flying into his arms as soon as he crossed the threshold? Didn't she know that as the golden pheasants fled further and further into the thicket of unreality, the more active was his need of her? He wondered where she had gone, and what had kept her so late. Was this a precedent, and had the first veneer of their companionability worn off so soon--for Anna? A new apprehension seized him, and he hurried from room to room to see if instead of censuring Anna, he ought to censure himself. There were so many accidents that might have happened to her. Women have been burned so severely as to faint: they have drowned in a bathtub: they have fallen down dumb-waiter shafts: they have been asphyxiated when the gas-range went out. And to think that only a moment ago, he had been vexed with her. The sight of each room, once so hideously commonplace, now so charming with Anna's artistry and the work of her own hands--her beautiful hands which ought to be so cared for--filled him with contrition and fresh nervousness. No, she had escaped these tragedies--yet she was missing. Missing, but now half an hour late. And downtown there were dangerous street-crossings, and dangerous excavations, and reckless motorists.... Once in a while a structural-iron worker dropped a rivet from the seventh story; and there were kidnappers abroad.... The key turned in the lock, and Henry dropped noiselessly into a chair, and caught up day-before-yesterday's paper. He greeted her tenderly, but temperately. "Well, where've _you_ been?" She had to catch her breath. "Oh, my _dear_, I've had the most _wonderful_ time! I've--oh, it's been perfectly gorgeous! And I've got it! I've got it!" He had never seen her keyed to such a pitch, and manlike, he attempted to calm her instead of rising to her own level. "Got what? St. Vitus' dance?" "_No!_ The scheme! The scheme we were looking for!" Henry discarded his paper. "Shoot it." She waved him off. "Just wait 'till I can breathe.... Do you remember what you told me a long time ago about a talk you had with your aunt? And she said bye-and-bye you'd see the writing on the wall?" "Yes." "Well, I've _seen_ it!" "Whereabouts?" "Wait.... And remember your talking to Mr. Mix, when he said you ought to go to a League meeting and air your views?" "Yes." "Well, I went!" He gazed at her. "You what?"