And poor Bob had been reasonable again. "Of course not, Jennie darling—not yet. When I come back—" She hadn’t let him finish. She had dashed through the door and down the steps, so that he had some ado to keep up with her.... Even then, if he had only dragged her away and been a cave man.... And the evening at home had been one of the oddest she had ever spent under her father’s roof. Everyone was so queer—or else she was queer herself. Gussie and Gladys, reconciled after their squabble, had both been in high spirits, and Teddy almost hysterical. He gave imitations of the men with whom he worked most closely at the bank, of Fred Inglis, of Mrs. Inglis, of Dolly, Addie, and Sadie Inglis, which made everyone feel that a great actor was being lost to the stage; but on top of these exhibitions he would fall into spells of profound reverie. The father had been apathetic, but he was always apathetic now; the mother, on the other hand, more serene than usual. More than usual, too, her eyes applauded Teddy’s high spirits with a quiet, adoring smile. Altogether, the supper had been a merry one, and yet, to Jennie’s thinking, merry with a mysterious note in the merriment—a note which perhaps only Pansy’s intuitions could have really understood. But sitting on the edge of her bed in the morning, she saw a ray of hope. There was divorce. Marriage wasn’t the irreparable thing which their family traditions assumed it to be. As a tolerably diligent reader of the personal items in the papers, Jennie had more than once read of divorces granted to young couples who had parted at the church door. Naturally, she shrank from the fuss it would involve, but better the fuss than.... Having got up, for the reason that she couldn’t stay in bed, she dressed slowly, because none of the family was as yet astir. She would surprise her mother by lighting the gas range and making the coffee before anyone came down. Thus it happened that she saw the postman crossing the street with a letter in his hand. Though letters were not rare in the family, they were rare enough to make the arrival of one an incident. She went to the door to take it from the postman’s hand. Seeing it addressed to Miss Follett and bearing the postmark "Marillo," her knees trembled under her. Having read what Mrs. Collingham had written, Jennie’s first thought was that her early rising enabled her to keep this missive secret. What it could portend was beyond her surmise. It was not unfriendly, but neither was it cordial. It took the guarded tone, she thought, of a woman who meant to see her face to face before being willing to commit herself. As success on meeting people face to face had mostly been Jennie’s portion, she was not so much afraid of the test as of what it might bring afterward.