“And he would like you and Mrs. Le Duc to meet him and Mrs. Craig at her rooms to-night and take supper with them--at half-past eight. I'm going out now for George.” He rose to go. “Well, I'll tell you, Halloran”--Apples had risen, too, and was speaking in a low, confidential voice--“between ourselves, my wife isn't going out much now, and I'm afraid we can't do it. We'd like to very much, you know.” Again came the whisper from behind the door. “Appleton!” “Yes, dearie. Excuse me a second, Halloran.” He slipped out again and there was more whispering. When he returned it was to say: “My wife would be very glad to have you all come here instead. We will have the supper up here in our apartment. Tell them we'll be very glad to see them--and you, too.” “Thank you. I'll tell them.” Apples showed him out, and as he left the building and headed for the State Street trolley he found himself thinking much of Apples and his rise in life. When he was on the Evanston train, however, he had something else to think about. In order to get George he must go either to the Bigelows' home or to Margaret's. Not one of the letters he had written since that evening had been answered. Besides, he was not in the right frame of mind to see her--or he thought he was not, which amounted to the same thing. All day he had been deep in the trouble of the Craig family, and in his talk about coming out after George he had not taken time to think just how he was to manage it. But he was realizing it now as he left the train and started up toward the Ridge; and as this is to be an honest history, the facts of what followed must be told.