"Now I'm going to leave a message for Thurston." She sat down to the table and drew some writing materials towards her. Then she gnawed the end of the pen in some perplexity, looking a little grave.
"You're afraid," said Glen. "You're sorry—you'd like to back out."
"Not at all," answered Indiana, drawing herself up indignantly. "I know just what my husband will do. He won't say a word to anyone—he'll jump in a cab and follow me."
"And then—a family row."
"Not at all. My husband is too high-bred for any public display of feeling. He'll look cold and proud, I'll quiver my eyelids—and—he'll kiss me—that's all." She smiled triumphantly as she scribbled a hasty note.
"I know," agreed Glen, with a sigh. "You could soften anything—even stone."
"Do you know that my husband is an H.F.R.G.S.?" sealing the note.
"Is he? You quite astonish me."
"Now, what is it? Of course you don't know. Honorary Fellow Royal Geographical Society. They want him to lead an expedition to the North Pole. If I had said 'no,' he would have gone. It was a toss-up."
"What a shame he didn't go," remarked Glen, shaking his head dolefully. "What a loss to science! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" He laughed so heartily, Indiana felt obliged to join him. "How jolly I am!" he thought, bitterly.