Rapidly Jean began changing her simple costume for an afternoon dress, a rose-colored crêpe de chine, by no means new, but one which her husband especially liked. And as Jean dressed, in spite of the fact that pallor was usual with her, a warm, cream-colored pallor extraordinarily attractive with her dark-brown hair and eyes, this afternoon her cheeks flushed to a deep rose. At the same time her eyes turned from the mirror to the window, hoping she might see her husband driving toward the house. Her ears also were listening for the sound of a telephone which might announce the fact that Ralph was at the station waiting to be sent for. She had decided not to drive over to meet him herself, as she would prefer to hear the news he must bring when they were alone.
It could not be possible that the news would be bad news! Jean put this idea away from her at once. This could not be! Ralph had been so sure of the new gold mine in which he had lately invested almost everything they possessed. Perhaps he should not have made the investment before examining the mine himself, yet he had not been able to wait. The owners had insisted that he must take the same chance along with them or they would find some one else to make the investment. If the new mine was what they hoped and believed, large fortunes would accrue to them all; if not Ralph Merritt must share the fortunes of war.
The afternoon passed, yet Jean continued to await in vain the appearance of her husband or the sound of the telephone. Not once did it ring during the long hours. Four o'clock and then five and still no Ralph. "After all, it would have been wiser to have gone with the others to Mrs. Marshall's tea, as it would have been far more interesting, and she would have felt less nervous than waiting alone," Jean concluded.
Then by and by, woman like, Jean began feeling aggrieved. If Ralph were unable to return home as he had anticipated why had he not telegraphed? Surely he must appreciate her anxiety!
Picking up a magazine, Jean dropped down upon the couch by the window, attempting to read. At first she found it impossible to concentrate her attention, but later became fairly interested.
A quarter of an hour after, her door opening abruptly, Jean looked up with a quick exclamation.
"Ralph!"
"What's the trouble, Jean?" Ralph Merritt demanded with an irritation in his voice and manner most unusual with him, "I have been trying to telephone the house for the past two hours and finally gave up and have walked over from the station—three or four miles, isn't it? It felt like ten. Seems as if some one might have been interested enough to answer the telephone, especially as I wrote you I'd try to get the house in case I could not find any one to drive me."
"But, Ralph, the telephone has not rung, I have been listening and expecting to hear it all afternoon. The connection must be broken. Yet what does it matter, now you are at home? What is the news?"
"Matter is that I am dead tired," Ralph Merritt answered, flinging himself down upon the couch Jean had just vacated. His shoes were covered with dust, his face and hands were soiled, his clothes rumpled. In a flash Jean thought of the Ralph who had returned to the ranch in this same condition a number of years before and of their interview together on the porch of the Rainbow lodge. Ralph had promised her then never to speculate again, never to risk his hard earned money in a gamble, which is all that speculation is. Then Jean put the memory quickly away from her, as there could be no reason to recall it upon this occasion.