"She is so delicately strung." As he was driving toward the hotel, his gloom in his face, he did not see Mrs.Whitney dash past and give him an anxious searching glance, and sink back in her carriage reassured somewhat.

She had heard that he was on the Chicago express--had heard it from her _masseuse_, who came each morning before she was up.

She had leaped to the telephone, had ordered a special train, and had got herself into it and off for her Chicago home by half-past eight.

"That sentimental girl, full of high ideals--what mayn't she do!" she was muttering, almost beside herself with anxiety.

"No doubt he'll try and induce her to run away with him." And the rushing train seemed to creep and crawl.
She burst into the house like a dignified whirlwind.