over and kissed her, perfunctorily, and he was quick to see that her
resentment of the evening before had survived the night.

"Sleep well?" he inquired, looking down at her. She evaded his eyes.

"Not particularly."

"Any plans for to-day?"

"I'll just play around. I'm lunching out, and I may run out with
Rodney to Linndale. The landscape men are there today."

She picked up the newspaper as though to end the discussion. He
saw then that she was reading the society news, and he rather more
than surmised that she had not even glanced at the black headings
which on the first page announced the hideous casualties of the
Somme.

"Then you've given the planting contract?"

"Some things have to go in in the fall, Clay. For heaven's sake,
don't look like a thunder cloud."

"Have you given the landscape contract?"

"Yes. And please go out. You make my head ache."

"How much is it to be?"

"I don't know. Ask Rodney."