"Is he crazy?" she asked herself. "Does he suppose I intend to be
dragged up there?"

It was open defiance on his part; he had done this thing without
consulting her and without her consent. It was preposterous and
insulting in its brusqueness. He evidently intended to change her
life--she, who loathed camp life more than anything in the world was
to be forced to live in one all summer instead of reigning at Newport.
She understood now his open defiance in leaving for the woods with
Holcomb, and yet this last decision was far graver to her than his
taking a dozen vacations. Still deeper in her heart there lurked the
thought of being separated from the man who understood her. The young
doctor's summer practice in Newport would no longer be a labour of
love. It really meant exile to them both.

At one o'clock she lunched with Margaret, hardly opening her lips
through it all. She did not mention her husband's note--that she would
reserve for the doctor. Between them she felt sure there could be
arranged a way out of the situation. Again she devoured his note.
Yes--"at five." The intervening hours seemed interminable.

That these same hours were anything but irksome to Sperry would have
been apparent to anyone who watched his use of them. The day, like
other days during office hours, had seen a line of coupes waiting
outside his door. Within had assembled a score of rich patients
waiting their turn while they read the illustrated papers in strained
silence--papers they had already seen. There was, of course, no
conversation. A nervous cough now and then from some pretty widow,
overheated in her sables, would break the awkward silence, or perhaps