To do him justice, the idea of apologizing to Betty had already occurred to him. If he put off the day of reckoning, when the time came he would pay handsomely. He realized that there was no use in wasting energy and being angry with Penny. He looked over the happenings of the last few hours and the part he had played in them, and what he saw failed to please him. He saw himself being advised by Doolittle to concentrate on the Erie Oval. He heard him urging him not to be what Doolittle called unneighborly. The confiding words of Cousin Emelene rang in his ears. He saw himself, in a fit of ill-temper, discharging Betty. He saw Genevieve, lovely and scornful, urging him to be less pompous. All this, he had to admit, he had brought on himself. Why should he have been so angry at these questions? Again Emelene's remark echoed in his ear. He had only to answer them--and he was going to concentrate on the Erie Oval! There came a knock on the door, and a breezy young woman demanded, "D'you want a stenographer?" George wanted a stenographer, and wanted one badly. He put from him the whole vexed question in the press of work, and by lunch time he made up his mind to have it out with Betty. There was no use putting it off, and he knew that he could have no peace with himself until he did. He felt very tired--as though he had been doing actual physical work. He thought of yesterday as a land of lost content. But he couldn't find Betty. He bent his steps toward home, and as he did so affection for Genevieve flooded his heart. He so wanted yesterday back--things as they had been. He so wanted her love and her admiration. He wanted to put his tired head on her shoulder. He couldn't bear, not for another moment, to be at odds with her. He wondered what she had been doing, and how she had spent the morning. He imagined her crying her heart out. He leaped up the steps and ran up to his room. In it was Alys Brewster-Smith. She started slightly. "I was just looking for some cold cream," she explained. "Where's Genevieve?" George asked. "Oh, she's out," Alys replied casually. "She left a note for you." The note was a polite and noncommittal line informing George that Genevieve would not be back for lunch. He felt as though a lump of ice replaced his heart. His disappointment was the desperate disappointment of a small boy. He went back to the gloomy office and worked through the interminable day. Late in the afternoon Mr. Doolittle lounged heavily in. "Have some gum, George?" he inquired, inserting a large piece in his own mouth. He chewed rhythmically for a space. George waited. He knew that chewing gum was not the ultimate object of Mr. Doolittle's visit. "Don't women beat the Dutch?" he inquired at last. "Yes sir, mister; they do!" "What's up now?" George inquired. "The suffragists again?" "Nope; not on the face of it they ain't. It's the Woman's Forum that's doin' this. They've got a sweet little idea. 'Seein' Whitewater Sweat' they call it.