"Do you suppose they are delaying the opera in Chicago until you come?" she asked.
"Poor Graves! he said he'd kill me if I didn't come," said Crosby, laughing.
"How dreadful!"
"But I'm not regretting the opera. Quive does not sing until to-morrow night."
"I adore Quive."
"You can't possibly have an engagement for to-morrow night either," he said reflectively.
"I don't see how I could. I expected to be on a Pullman sleeper."
"I'll come for you at 8:15 then."
"You are very good, Mr. Crosby, but I have another plan."
"I beg your pardon for presuming to—" he began, and a hot flush mounted to his brow.