Catherine went back to her office.
"Oh, Mrs. Hammond!" The bobbed-haired office stenographer rose, with a shake of her abbreviated skirt. "You were wanted on the wire. Said you were in conference with the President. Here's the number."
"Thank you. No, I don't need you now." Catherine waited until the door closed. She still hesitated. It must be Charles. Better to call him outside, at noon. The telephone operator in the main office had a furtive, watchful eye which probably matched her ear! But noon was an hour away.
"Charles? Hello."
"That you, Catherine? I've been trying to get you for a solid hour!"
"I'm sorry." Was that girl listening! "When did you get in?"
"Early. Catherine, where have you put my lecture notes? The seminar, you know. That class meets to-day. I can't find a damned shred of them."
His voice seemed to stand him at her shoulder, with the funny, distracted flush, and rumpled hair of one of his fruitless searches.
"I haven't seen them this fall." She was moving rapidly about the house, almost in kinæsthetic images. Where would she look? "Didn't you file those in your office last spring? With the manuscript of your book?"
"Um. Perhaps. I'll look there. Good-by."