"I'm not going to have it! Why what do you think I'm made of? I won't.
Telephone them. Call it off. I tell you I can't."
"Katie, you think you can't, and yet you know you will. I know exactly what you're made of. I know what your father was made of. I know what your mother was made of. I know that no matter what it costs you—you'll go on as if nothing had occurred. Now will you telephone Prescott, or shall I? Ask him about the glasses. And if he can't do anything for you you'll have to call up Zelda at Miss Osborne's and tell the girls they can't come unless they each bring a glass. I'll do it if you want me to. They'll think it a great lark, you know, having to bring their own glasses or getting no champagne."
"Yes," whispered Katie, "they'll think it a great lark. For that matter—everything's a great lark."
She sank to a chair. Her tears were falling as she said again that everything was a great lark. He paid no attention to her but went to the telephone.
But the tears were interrupted. "Miss Kate," said Nora, "can you come and look at the table a minute? They want to know—"
She dried her eyes as best she could and went and looked at the table.
She kept on looking at things—doing things—until she heard the bell.
"If that's some one for me, Nora," she said, "show him in here, and don't interrupt me while he's here." She passed into a small room they used as a den.
He came to her there. And when she saw that it was indeed he she broke down.
"Something is the matter?" he asked gently. "You wanted me? You sent for me?"