"Don't worry about me," he interrupted; "I'm all right. But you're going to be bored to death sitting here every evening."
"No, I won't," she said without conviction—"except to-night."
"What about to-night?"
"George Tompkins asked us to dinner."
"Did you accept?"
"Of course I did," she said impatiently. "Why not? You're always talking about what a terrible neighborhood this is, and I thought maybe you'd like to go to a nicer one for a change."
"When I go to a nicer neighborhood I want to go for good," he said grimly.
"Well, can we go?"
"I suppose we'll have to if you've accepted."
Somewhat to his annoyance the conversation abruptly ended. Gretchen jumped up and kissed him sketchily and rushed into the kitchen to light the hot water for a bath. With a sigh he carefully deposited his portfolio behind the bookcase—it contained only sketches and layouts for display advertising, but it seemed to him the first thing a burglar would look for. Then he went abstractedly up-stairs, dropped into the baby's room for a casual moist kiss, and began dressing for dinner.