She was sickened and sorrowful over the evident nerve strain and discomfort which Eileen seemed to have brought upon herself.

She dreaded meeting her at dinner that night, and she wondered all the way home where Eileen had gone from the bank and what she had been doing.
What she felt was a pale affair compared with what she would have felt if she could have seen Eileen leave the bank and enter a near-by store, go to a telephone booth and put in a long-distance call for San Francisco.

Her eyes were brilliant, her cheeks by nature redder than the rouge she had used upon them.

She squared her shoulders, lifted her head, as if she irrevocably had made a decision and would not be thwarted in acting upon it.

While she waited she straightened her hat, and tucked up her pretty hair, once more evincing concern about her appearance.