elevator. The automatic car carried her to the first bedroom floor but,
changing her mind, she did not open the door; instead she pressed the
electric button marked "Attic." Her slight feeling of irritation aroused
by not being met downstairs by any member of her family was increased by
stepping from the elevator into a dark hall.

"Winslow!" she called. Meeting with no response she walked over to the
opposite wall and by the aid of the light in the elevator found the
electric switch and turned it on. Not pausing to look about her, she went
to the back of the large high-roofed attic and tried the handle of a
closed door. Finding that it would not open to her touch, she rapped
sharply on the panel. She waited several seconds before she heard a chair
pushed back and the sound of advancing footsteps. The inside bolt was
shot back with distinct force.

"Well, what is it?" demanded Whitney, jerking open the door. "Oh, my
dear," his tone changing at sight of his wife, "I had no idea you were
returning so soon."

"Do you call half-past six o'clock soon?" asked Mrs. Whitney following
him into the room. "Winslow, Winslow, I warn you not to become too
absorbed in your work."

Whitney laughed somewhat ruefully. "Does the kettle call the pot black?
What do you do but give up your time to the Sisters in Unity? I'm a
secondary consideration. There, there," noting his wife's expression.
"Don't let us dispute over trifles. I'm making headway, Minna--headway."

"I congratulate you, dear." Mrs. Whitney laid a caressing hand on his
touseled gray hair. "I never doubted that you would. But, Winslow, such