"But what shall we do?" she asked despairingly.

"I don't know," said Rodney. "Call them up and tell them. Randolph will
understand."

"But,"--it was absurd that her eyes should be filling up and her throat
getting lumpy over a thing like this,--"but what shall I do? Shall I
tell Eleanor _we_ can't come, or shall I offer to come without you?"

"Lord!" he said, "I don't care. Do whichever you like. I've got enough
to think about without deciding that. Now do hang up and run along."

"But, Rodney, what's happened? Has something gone wrong?"

"Heavens, no!" he said. "What is there to go wrong? I've got a big day
in court to-morrow and I've struck a snag, and I've got to wriggle out
of it somehow, before I quit. It's nothing for you to worry about. Go to
your dinner and have a good time. Good-by."

The click in the receiver told her he had hung up. The difficulty about
the Randolphs was managed easily enough. Eleanor was perfectly gracious
about it and insisted that Rose should come by herself.

She was completely dressed a good three-quarters of an hour before it
was time to start, and after pretending for fifteen interminable minutes
to read a magazine, she chucked it away and told her maid to order the
car at once. If she drove straight down-town, she could have a
ten-minute visit with Rodney and still not be late for the dinner. She
was a little vague as to why she wanted it so much, but the prospect
was irresistible.