She gave it up in despair and took the trolley back to her home in the lower town. Then for several days nothing happened. Mrs. Arburton tried to be happy and failed miserably. Her husband, of course, observed it, and said at the dinner table:
“My love, I fear you do not enjoy being down here among these lumber yards and shops. After dinner we’ll go up town.”
She was delighted. When she reached the Heights she would ask him to take her to the other house. Immediately after dinner she went to her room to put on her hat. When she came down again she found her husband calmly reading in the drawing-room.
“I thought we were going to the Heights, dear.”
He looked up in some surprise, and, instead of replying, asked if she wished to go out.
“Yes. I do. I—I want to go to mother’s.”
“Certainly, my love. I’ll go with you.”
A moment later he was ready, and calmly opened the front door and led her out into the broad, familiar avenue in the upper town.
She stood bewildered on the stoop, and looked at the street, at the lemon-colored houses opposite, and at the colonial villa behind her.
“What are you waiting for, dear?”