"The leader of the Opposition, who seems to be a solid sort of chap, would like to meet you when it is all over—he is well pleased with the women's activities, and especially your part, and wants to meet you personally.
"I do not need to tell you, dear, what I think. I believe you know. I am in a mellow and pleasant state of being able to say 'I told you so.'
"I am not sending you roses because I think you are short of bouquets, but just because there are certain things a red rose can say, that I can not. H.C."
"And why can't you say it?" Pearl whispered, "and why don't you say it, and me hungry for it. Who is stopping you from saying it—I'm sure it's not me."
She threw aside her pride, and going to the phone, called the hotel where she knew he stayed.
"Is Dr. Clay of Millford there?" she asked, trembling with eagerness.
"Just a minute," said the clerk.
Pearl's heart was pounding in her throat, her ears sang, her mouth was dry with excitement. She wanted to hear his voice—she wanted to see him.
It seemed a long, long time—then the clerk's voice, mechanical and dull as the click of an adding machine:
"No, Dr. Clay checked out tonight."