Farley was awake, reading a magazine article on “The Ohio in the Civil War.”
“Back already! Getting married doesn’t take long, does it?—not as long as getting out of it!”
“Oh, the wedding was stunning!” she cried breathlessly. “I never saw so much gold braid in my life. I’m going with the Pembrokes and Mr. Eaton down to dedicate a swimming-pool at the Wright Settlement House. I just stopped to tell you, so you wouldn’t worry.”
“Tom Pembroke going down there?” he growled. “I thought that tank was for poor boys. What’s Eaton got to do with it?”
She explained that Eaton was substituting for the president of the Settlement House Association, who had been called from town, and that he had asked her to recite something.
“Well, ‘The Ole Swimmin’ Hole’ will come in handy. I always like the way you do that. Run along now!”
She darted into her room and found the letter just as she had left it on the mantel. She tore it into strips and threw them into her beribboned waste-paper basket. Her revulsion of feeling was complete. It was like waking from a nightmare to find herself secure amid familiar surroundings. She turned to Farley’s room again and impulsively bent and kissed him.
“Ain’t you gone yet?” he demanded, with the gruffness that often concealed his pleasure.
“I’m off for sure this time,” she called back. “Thanks for suggesting ‘The Ole Swimmin’ Hole’—that’s just the thing!”
They found the hall packed with an impatient crowd. Eaton led the way to the platform and opened the exercises without formality. The superintendent of the house dealt in statistics as to the service rendered by the Settlement. Mamie Pembroke sang “The Rosary” and responded to an encore.