Corthell came to the Cresslers quite as a matter of course. He had dined with the Jadwins at the great North Avenue house and afterwards the three, preferring to walk, had come down to the Cresslers on foot.

But evidently the artist was to see but little of Laura Jadwin that evening. She contrived to keep by her husband continually. She even managed to get him away from the others, and the two, leaving the rest upon the steps, sat in the parlour of the Cresslers’ house, talking.

By and by Laura, full of her projects, exclaimed:

“Where shall we go? I thought, perhaps, we would not have dinner at home, but you could come back to the house just a little⁠—a little bit⁠—early, and you could drive me out to the restaurant there in the park, and we could have dinner there, just as though we weren’t married just as though we were sweethearts again. Oh, I do hope the weather will be fine.”

“Oh,” answered Jadwin, “you mean Wednesday evening. Dear old girl, honestly, I⁠—I don’t believe I can make it after all. You see, Wednesday⁠—”