Ethel, never dreaming that her cousin concerned himself in her future welfare, dressed for luncheon with nervous rapidity. But her haste did not prevent her from stopping now and then to inspect the ring on her third finger. It was somewhat loose, and she debated a moment as to whether she should wind cotton thread about the hoop to tighten it, but a sudden imperative message from Mrs. Ogden sent her flying down the hall wearing the ring as Barclay had given it to her.
She hesitated outside the drawing room entrance, then with heightened color advanced into the room, but the man who turned from the window on her entrance was not Barclay, and the happy sparkle died from her eyes as she greeted James Patterson.
“I met Mrs. Ogden down town,” he explained, sitting on the sofa by her. “And she very kindly brought me home to luncheon.”
“What about your Congressional duties?” asked Ethel mischievously.
“They can go hang,” with impulsive bitterness, then he added more calmly, “the House has adjourned over today. I telephoned early this morning, Ethel, to ask you to go motoring, but the maid said you were out—with, I suppose”—the bitterness returning to his voice—“Julian Barclay.”
“Come, come, Julian, this won’t do,” he said.
Mrs. Ogden’s entrance saved Ethel from reply. “Come right in to luncheon,” she said. “Professor Norcross and Walter are already waiting for us,” and Patterson, disappointed in not having a longer tête-a-tête with Ethel, sulkily accompanied them into the dining room. But Mrs. Ogden saw to it that he sat between her and Ethel, and he brightened. Only Professor Norcross, seated across the table, observed the shadow on Ethel’s face as she glanced at the empty seat opposite her.
“Where is Julian?” demanded Mrs. Ogden, voicing Ethel’s unspoken question.
“Lunching at the club! he told me to make his excuses,” responded Ogden. “Have some wine, Norcross?”