“I am so glad.” She was still overpowered by the disclosure. “It is good of you to tell me. Do you mind my telling Phil?”
“Not at all,” he assured her.
“Will you forgive me,” she asked, after a slight pause during which she had somewhat regained her composure, “if I say that I always thought, or rather hoped you would change? that your former beliefs seemed so—unlike you?”
He continued to smile at her as she stepped forward to take the car.
“I'll have to forgive you,” he answered, “because you were right—”
She was still in such a state of excitement when she arrived down town that she went direct to her husband's law office.
“I like this!” he exclaimed, as, unannounced, she opened the door of his sanctuary. “You might have caught me with one of those good-looking clients of mine.”
“Oh, Phil!” she cried, “I've got such a piece of news, I couldn't resist coming to tell you. I met Mr. Hodder—and he's changed.”
“Changed!” Phil repeated, looking up at her flushed face beside him. Instead of a law-book, he flung down a time table in which he had been investigating the trains to a quail shooting club in the southern part of the state: The transition to Mr. Hodder was, therefore, somewhat abrupt. “Why, Nell, to look at you, I thought it could be nothing else than my somewhat belated appointment to the United States Supreme Court. How has Hodder changed? I always thought him pretty decent.”
“Don't laugh at me,” she begged, “it's really serious—and no one knows it yet. He said I might tell you. Do you remember that talk we had at father's, when he first came, and we likened him to a modern Savonarola?”