"Trip for the firm. To their factories in Boston and Pittsburgh. Cathy, what a shame your tour was interrupted! When do you go back?"
"You mean west again?" A little shock tingled through Catherine, quite as if, while she looked at a group of familiar thoughts, an outside hand shifted the spotlight, and at once a different color lay upon them, changing them.
"You hadn't finished the work, had you?"
"No." That was all Catherine could say.
"Well, Spencer's all right, isn't he?"
"Yes," heavily from Catherine. Silence for a moment. Then Margaret, forcefully:
"I'd like to come right out to-night. Don't be a fool, Cathy! I know just what's happened to you, old dear! Don't you let it! But Amy's waiting for me, and I'm starved."
Catherine stared at the round black mouthpiece. If she could hold that light Margaret threw over things—in which nothing looked the same. But she couldn't talk.
"I'll expect you to-morrow, then?" she asked.
"Yes. Early."