tled his shoulders inside
his coat, and took his stick in his right hand again. Eleanor now looked
around at him.

"Wait two minutes," she said, "if you don't mind." Then, to Rodney,
"Come along." And she led the way up the lustrous, velvety teakwood
stair.

He followed her. But arrived at the drawing-room floor, he protested.

"Look here!" he said. "If Jim's busy ..."

"You've never been in here before, have you?" she asked. "How's Rose?
Jim saw her, you know, in New York."

"Yes," he said. "Rose wrote to me she'd seen him, and I thought I'd drop
around for a chat. But if he's busy ..."

"Oh, don't be _too_ dense, Rodney!" she said. "A man has to be busy when
he's known to be in the house and won't entertain his wife's guests. Go
up one flight more and to the door that corresponds to that one. It
won't do you any good to knock. He'll either not answer or else tell you
to go to hell. Just sing out who you are and go right in."

She gave him a nod and a hard little smile, and went down-stairs again
to Bertie.

Rodney stood where she had left him, in two minds whether to carry out
her instructions or to wait until he heard her and Bertie go out and
then quietly follow them. It was a beastly situation, dragged into a
family quarrel like that; forced to commit an intrusion that was so
plainly labeled in advance. And on the other hand, it was a decidedly
interesting situation. If Eleanor was as reckless as that with facts
most women keep to themselves as long as possible, what would her
outspoken husband be. But if he were full of his grievances, he probably
wouldn't talk about Rose.

What really determined his action was Eleanor's discovery, or pretended
discovery down in the hall below, that her gloves weren't what she
wanted and her instructions to the maid to go up and get her a fresh
pair. It would be too ridiculous to be caught there--lurking.

So he mounted the next flight, found the door Eleanor had indicated,
knocked smartly on it, and to forestall his getting told to go to hell,
sang out at the same time, "This is Rodney Aldrich. May I come in?"

"Come in, of course," Randolph called. "I'm glad to see you," he added,
coming to meet his guest. "But do you mind telling me how the devil you
got in here? Some poor wretch will lose his job, you know, if Eleanor
finds out about this. When I'm in this room, sacred to reflection and
research, it's a first-class crime to let me be disturbed."

It didn't need