He drank his tea and ate hungrily the sandwiches she had made. The news that his father had been at the bank until midnight interested him; he knew that the Hercules carried his father’s paper for a very large amount, and that it was maturing. Seeing that the mention of the financial stringency had interested Wayne, Mrs. Craighill jumped to the conclusion that the Craighill fortunes were in jeopardy and that Wayne’s condition was due to the anxious state of affairs downtown. She had believed her husband very rich and the thought that he might experience reverses was not pleasing. She had passed an unhappy day after her interview with her husband that morning touching the unfortunate Boston excursion. She had spent the evening alone and, though Wayne did not know it, she had telephoned to the Allequippa Club and to the Penn and asked for him. She had much to tell him and as he seemed more like himself, now that the hot tea had warmed his chilled body, she was quite ready to prolong this interview for her own relief and pleasure. She was charming _en neglige_ and her hair in long braids added its note of intimacy. “It’s nice to see you. If you won’t tell--really and truly--I’ll confess something.” “Well?” he scowled. “Dear me, you’ll have to do a lot better than that, Waynie, dear.” “Don’t call me Waynie; it makes me sick.” “Oh,” she pouted and threw herself back in her chair. “What is it you wanted to tell me?” he demanded. “Nothing.” “Then don’t make so much fuss about it. You’d better go to bed.” “I’m comfortable right now, but I’ve been lonesome and unhappy all day. I hoped you would come a long time ago. I kept a fine fire going for you--really just for you--in the library, and now you’re as cross and uninteresting as you can be. I didn’t suppose you Craighills were all cross.” “So father was cross was he?” asked Wayne, scowling into his cigarette case. “Oh, terribly cross. I tried to be polite to him and he went into his room and slammed the door. He was very cross this morning when he came home from Boston. He saw my mother up there.” Wayne’s manner changed. “That’s perfectly bully! If you have any more news like that, Addie, you may go on and tell me. Let’s move into the library.” He stirred the fire into life and threw on fresh wood. He was refreshed by his luncheon and it was the curse of his temperament that he never ignored the nearest pleasure. Addie was a pretty trifle of a woman and it was not unpleasant to find her in a receptive mood. She crouched beside him, so close that he could have placed his hand on her head. “This is very cozy, isn’t it? It must be hideously cold outside. Your father was going to take me to Bermuda for Easter, but I suppose we may all be in the poor-house by that time.”