But the switchboard girl had evidently been listening in and plugged her through, because she heard the throb of another ring, a click of a receiver and then—then Rodney's voice.
She couldn't answer his first "Hello," and he said it again, sharply, "Hello, what is it?"
And then suddenly her voice came back. A voice that startled her with its distinctness. "Hello, Rodney," she said; "this is Rose."
There was a perfectly blank silence after that and, then the crisp voice of an operator somewhere—"Waiting?"
"Yes," she heard Rodney say, "get off the line." And then to her. "I came to see you this afternoon and again to-night."
"Yes, I know," she said. "I just this minute got in. Can't you come back again now?"
How in the world, she had wondered, could she manage her voice like that! From the way it sounded she might have been speaking to Alice Perosini; and yet her shaking hand could hardly hold the receiver. She heard him say:
"It's pretty late, isn't it? I don't want to ... You'll be tired and ..."
"It's not too late for me," she said, "only you might come straight along before it gets any later."
She managed to wait until she heard him say, "All right," before she hung up the receiver. Then a big racking sob, not to be denied any longer, pounced on her and shook her.