“Curtis, dear,⁠ ⁠… when is it all going to end⁠—your speculating? You never used to be this way. It seems as though, nowadays, I never had you to myself. Even when you are not going over papers and reports and that, or talking by the hour to Mr. Gretry in the library⁠—even when you are not doing all that, your mind seems to be away from me⁠—down there in La Salle Street or the Board of Trade Building. Dearest, you don’t know. I don’t mean to complain, and I don’t want to be exacting or selfish, but⁠—sometimes I⁠—I am lonesome. Don’t interrupt,” she said, hastily. “I want to say it all at once, and then never speak of it again. Last night, when Mr. Gretry was here, you said, just after dinner, that you would be all through your talk in an hour. And I waited.⁠ ⁠… I waited till eleven, and then I went to bed. Dear I⁠—I⁠—I was lonesome. The evening was so long. I had put on my very prettiest gown, the one you said you liked so much, and you never seemed to notice. You told me Mr. Gretry was going by nine, and I had it all planned how we would spend the evening together.”