"Well, it's the first time we've had a jolly dinner party for a long time, eh, Cathy?"
Ah, that was the thing she feared, ironically, under the bright surface, that Charles was building again; not a trap, exactly, nor a prison, but a net, a snare. This was to be proof, this scene, that they must have her, wholly. That her life dwelt only within such walls as these. That her desires, even, were held here. Her eyes were bright and troubled.
The secret came. Ice cream and chocolate sauce.
"Now it's a real party," sighed Marian, contentedly. "And I thought it up."
The telephone rang. Charles sprang to his feet, dropping his napkin as he hurried out.
"Why," asked Spencer, "does Daddy always have to hustle when the 'phone rings?"
"Because he has important business, because he's a man," said Marian, promptly.
"It might be for me." Spencer was hopeful.
"No!" Marian derided him. "Folks don't telephone little boys."
Astonishing. Catherine looked at Marian's calm profile. Where did she pick up her perfect feminine attitude? Instinct, or a parroting of some one, Miss Kelly, or her grandmother?