She said it without faltering, Kate noticed, as she gave her enthusiastic acceptance, and when she had put down the telephone, she actually clapped her hands at the fortitude of the little woman she had once thought such a hummingbird--and a hummingbird with that one last added glory, a voice. Marna had been able to put her dreams behind her; why should not her example be cheerfully followed? When Kate reached the little apartment looking on Garfield Park, she entered an atmosphere in which, as she had long since proved, there appeared to be no room for regret. Marna had, of course, prepared the dinner with her own hands. "I whipped up some mayonnaise," she said. "You remember how Schumann-Heink used to like my mayonnaise? And she knows good cooking when she tastes it, doesn't she? I've trifle for desert, too." "But it must have taken you all day, dear, to get up a dinner like that," protested Kate, kissing the flushed face of her friend. "It took up the intervals," smiled Marna. "You see, my days are made up of taking care of baby, _and_ of intervals. How fetching that black velvet bodice is, Kate. I didn't know you had a low one." "Low _and_ high," said Kate. "That's the way we fool 'em--make 'em think we have a wardrobe. Me--I'm glad I'm going to the opera. How good of you to think of me! So few do--at least in the way I want them to." Marna threw her a quick glance. "Ray?" she asked with a world of insinuation. To Kate's disgust, her eyes flushed with hot tears. "He's waiting to know," she answered. "But I--I don't think I'm going to be able--" "Oh, Kate!" cried Marna in despair. "How can you feel that way? Just think--just think--" she didn't finish her sentence.