HE Dollivers were not in their usual buoyant spirits. It was the end of one of those days, apparently possessed of a devil of mischance, when everything had gone wrong. From the moment when the maid, already having delayed breakfast half an hour, accidentally overturned the coffee-pot and drenched Page with its contents, in consequence of which he missed an important appointment at the office on a short and particularly crowded day, to the instant when a tire burst as they were speeding out the Post Road, making them even tardier than they would otherwise have been for the Eldridges' dinner, each of them had struggled with a series of exasperating mishaps. Nor had the tide turned even then, for the guests assembled at the Eldridges' country house, perhaps depressed by the Dollivers' late arrival, were dispirited and dull, and the talk dragged.
But not even the weariness and dejection following a day of adversities and disappointments could wholly deaden the Dollivers' response to the clear October night, when, shortly before eleven o'clock, they set out for New York, their acetylene lamps boring a white tunnel through the darkness ahead and disclosing the smooth, deserted road. Page purposely chose for their return one of the devious and roundabout byways that they loved, instead of following the more frequented route, but every detail of their soothing flight through the night added poignancy to his regret for what he must soon tell Marjorie. For a little while neither spoke. Then he began, dryly:
"Well? Were you deeply impressed with the star guest?"
"Oh, profoundly! If he's as brilliant as the Eldridges say he is, he certainly gave an 'extraordinary exhibition of self-control to-night!"
"He was probably hungry," suggested her husband.
"My dear! Not after the roast! I sat next him and know whereof I speak!"
"It's also possible that the gentleman was bored. I confess I was."
"Oh, Page, wasn't it dreary! And poor Mrs. Eldridge was making such efforts to keep the talk up! I tried and tried to think of something amusing, and ended by being even more bromidic than usual. But I've had such an awful day!"
"There are others," he laconically returned. "But let's not hold the Eldridges' lion responsible for the consequences. We weren't emitting many sparks ourselves."
"Oh, I know. It's just that I'm a bad, cross little thing!" She laughed and sighed, and tucked a penitent hand under his arm. "But you're such a dear I can't stay cross long, and, anyway, it's all over now."
"Yes, it's all over now," he echoed, dully, his thoughts reverting again to business.
"And isn't it good to be off alone with the night, and the stars, and each other—and the car! What should we ever do without this blessed little car?"
"We'd hate to give it up now, wouldn't we?" he responded, and congratulated himself upon his success in assuming what seemed to him a very casual tone.
There was a moment of silence, and then Marjorie asked, very quietly:
"Have we got to give it up, dear? Is that it?"
This was precisely what had been in his mind, but with a vague, masculine idea of shielding her he was not willing to admit it so abruptly.
"Is what it?" he counter-questioned, to gain time. "Is that what?"
"Have we got to give up the car?"
"Why—I hope not. What put that into your head?"
"I've known ever since you came home from the office this afternoon that there was something you didn't want me to know. Won't you tell me, dear?"
"Not to-night, love. We've had troubles enough for one day. Let's not dig up any more now. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow."
"I'd so much rather know it now. Page, Don't try to spare me," she added, and he knew from her tone that she was smiling. "You know I can bear almost anything if you'll only let me see it and face it. It's the mysterious, threatening things you try to hide that terrify me."
"I've already told you that I haven't liked the way things have been going since the change," he began, after a moment. "I've thought these new people were—well, not quite straight, and now I know it, and it's pretty clear to me that I can't stand for the things they're going to insist upon."
"So you've resigned?"
"Not yet. But—I'm afraid I must, dear. Immediately." He explained briefly what the situation was, and how his demand that it be remedied had been met, concluding: "And there's only one answer for me to make to that. I must resign."
"Of course you must. Page. I wish you'd done it to-day."