"I tried to telephone to ask you to come to-morrow night. The storm has played havoc with the wires. It is impossible to get connection with anyone." A servant appeared in the doorway.
"You are wanted at the telephone, Mrs. Cable, Shall I say you will come?"
Flushing to the roots of her hair, the mistress of the house excused herself and left the room. Bansemer leaned back in his chair and smiled. She returned a few minutes later with a fluttering apology.
"What a terrible night it must be for those poor linemen," she said. "I remember what it meant to be a railroad lineman in the West years ago. The blizzards out there are a great deal more severe than those we have here, Mr. Bansemer. Just think of the poor fellows who are repairing the lines to-night. Doesn't it seem heartless?"
"It does, indeed. And yet, I daresay you've been scolding them bitterly all evening. One seldom thinks it worth while to be merciful when the telephone refuses to obey. It's only a true philanthropist who can forgive the telephone. However, I am grateful to the blizzard and happy. Fair weather would have deprived me of pleasure."
"I am sorry Mr. Cable is not at home," she said quickly.
"I doubt if I shall miss him greatly," said he.
"He expects to leave early—he isn't well," she hastened to say. "Don't you want to smoke?"
"A cigarette, if you don't mind. By the way, where is my future daughter-in-law? Surely I may see her to-night."
"She is at the theatre—with the Fernmores. Graydon is one of the party. Didn't you know?" she asked suddenly.