"I know there's something," she said. "I can tell just by the way your
eyes look and the way you're so tight and--strained. If you'd just tell
me about it, and then sit down and let me--try to take the strain
away...."

Beyond a doubt the strain was there. The laugh he meant for a
good-humored dismissal of her fears, didn't sound at all as it was
intended to.

"Can't you tell me?" she repeated.

"Good heavens!" he said. "There's nothing to tell! I've got an argument
before the Court of Appeals to-morrow and there's a ruling decision
against me. It is against me, and it's bad law. But that isn't what I
want to tell them. I want some way of making a distinction so that I can
hold that the decision doesn't rule."

"And it wouldn't help," she ventured, "if you told me all about it? I
don't care about the dinner."

"I couldn't explain in a month," he said.

"Oh, I wish I were some good," she said forlornly.

He pulled out his watch again and began pacing up and down the room.

"I just can't stand it to see you like that," she broke out again. "If
you'll only sit down for five minutes and let me try to get that
strained look out of your eyes...."