As she left the window and moved towards the fire, the telephone sent tiny shivers of sound through the quietness of the house. It was Jimmie. “Terribly sorry, dear, but Horace and I’ve got to go to Chicago on the Century this afternoon. Throw a few things in a bag like a good girl and give it to the boy I’m sending up. Bert Bellamy happened to be in the office and I asked him to take you to the theatre tonight—hope that’s all right with you. If it isn’t, you can tell him you’ve got a headache or something. Sorry, got to rush along now—got loads of work before I leave. Take care of yourself—I’ll be back in three or four days. …”
He was gone before she had a chance to say much. She was annoyed that he without consulting her had delegated Bert to go to the theatre in his place. She was rather glad, however, to have the house to herself for a few days. Jimmie was a dear but he was frightfully boisterous and uncouth and boring at times. And he annoyed her with his smug little prejudices. He didn’t like Jews or Japanese or Italians or any other group that wasn’t his own. She remembered his patronizing sneer at the Jews the night before as they drove to the Crosbys’. There were certain classes of Jews she preferred not coming into contact with just as there were classes of Negroes and classes of white people she very much sought a dear have the home his place to avoid. I’m probably a snobbish creature myself, she admitted, but at least it seems to me that the only people on earth who are not afraid of intellect are the Jews. …
Wearied with her gloomy mental peregrinations and her perfervid seeking into the causes of her own restlessness, she ate an early luncheon and, wrapping herself warmly in her furs, set off with free swinging strides up the Avenue, exulting in the sweeping, stinging wind which rushed down the canyon formed by the towering buildings. As she hurried along, little circles of carmine took shape in her cheeks from the