"That's true; I must get the check," he said, and he set out.
But as he neared his destination and began to rehearse all the grave causes for offense that he held against her, he was surprised at the slender stock of ammunition he held.
"Why, it was perfectly natural," he thought, struck by the idea—having considered her reasons for the first time. "If Garraboy called and explained everything to her satisfaction, why shouldn't she change her mind? Besides, there is nothing against Garraboy—nothing definite. After all, I may have been unjust to him."
Very sheepish, he felt his irritation slipping away as he yielded to the eager desire of once more entering her presence.
"What the deuce was I so wild about?" he asked himself, amazed, as he entered the elevator.
But all at once he remembered that she had allowed him to receive the news at the hands of a person intensely disagreeable to him.
"Why didn't she telephone me? That's the whole point."
And, all his irritation restored by this one outstanding fact, he entered the apartment with the dignity of a justly offended person.
She was seated by the fire in an easy-chair, and she did not rise as he entered. She was bending eagerly forward, an open manuscript in her hand, and, without turning, she made a little sign to him to be seated until she should have finished.
"Wonderful!" she cried at last, dropping the play in her lap. "It is wonderful!" she repeated, her whole body vibrating with the enthusiasm of her mood. "Wonderful—astonishing—what a scene!" And, tapping the manuscript with a gesture of decision, she exclaimed: "I will play that part—it will be an enormous sensation!"