She ordered her luncheon herself, irritated at having to do what he should have done. If it was business that kept H. R. away, she ought to know it. The right to know everything was part of the spoils. When he came back there would be no more ignorance—ever again!
At three o'clock she went home. But as the days passed she became uneasy. H. R. was the only human being she completely dominated. Brooding on his inexplicable absence, her thoughts came more and more to take the form of the question that victrices always ask of high Heaven: "Have I lost him?"
That made her love him.
At noon on the 20th of May he telephoned to her:
"Meet me at the Plaza at four—for tea. Don't fail! Good-by!"
"Wait!" she exclaimed, angrily, rebellion surging within her by reason of his dictatorial tone of voice. She had been very anxious to see him, but not at that price.
He had wisely hung up the receiver, however. That compelled her to do what he had told her to do. She had something to say to him.
She found him sitting at a small table in the Palm Room. Ethel Vandergilt and Reggie Van Duzen were with him. She approached him frowning, because she ran the usual gantlet of stares, and overheard the usual murmurs: "That's Grace Goodchild! Do you think she is as pretty as—"
Ethel greeted her affectionately, and Reggie looked proud to be there. He was a worshipper of the dynamic H. R. But all that H. R. himself said, in his exasperatingly peremptory voice, was:
"Month is up to-day. Now for the test! Tell Ethel you want some sandwiches!"