"Home this afternoon—Chris."
Marie's heart gave a great leap, then seemed to stand still.
"No answer," she said mechanically.
She watched the boy go down the steps and mount his bicycle at the curb, then she read the short message again.
"Home this afternoon—Chris."
This meant that she could not have her day on the river—that she must tell Feathers she could not go with him.
He was outside in the road, tinkering with the car, and had not seen the telegram delivered. With a sudden impulse Marie thrust it into her frock. Why should she stay at home just because after all these weeks Chris chose to come back? Why should she give up a day's enjoyment with a man who really enjoyed her society just to be hurt and ignored and made to suffer afresh?
Feather called to her from the road: "Are you ready, Mrs. Lawless?"
"Yes, coming now." She ran down the steps, her cheeks flushed with a defiant sense of guilt. It was the first time in her life that she had done anything mean or shabby, but her heart had grown hard during the past days, and it no longer seemed a dreadful matter that she should not trouble to be present when Chris came home.
There was a large picnic basket strapped to the back of the car, and Feathers told her laughingly that he had brought a magnum of champagne.