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Contents vii
3-3 How do Porter’s competitive forces model, the value chain model,
synergies, core competencies, and network economics help companies
develop competitive strategies using information systems? 94
Porter’s Competitive Forces Model 94 • Information System Strategies for
Dealing with Competitive Forces 96
Interactive Session | Organizations Digital Technology Helps Crayola Brighten
Its Brand 98
The Internet’s Impact on Competitive Advantage 100 • The Business Value
Chain Model 101
Interactive Session | Technology Smart Products—Coming Your Way 102
Synergies, Core Competencies, and Network-Based Strategies 105
3-4 What are the challenges posed by strategic information systems, and
how should they be addressed? 109
Sustaining Competitive Advantage 109 • Aligning IT with Business
Objectives 109 • Managing Strategic Transitions 110
3-5 How will MIS help my career? 111
The Company 111 • Position Description 111 • Job Requirements 111 •
Interview Questions 112 • Author Tips 112
Review Summary 112 • Key Terms 113 • Review Questions 113 •
Discussion Questions 114
Hands-On MIS Projects 114
Collaboration and Teamwork Project 115
Case Study: Grocery Wars 116
References: 118
PART THREE Key System Applications for the Digital Age 337
Chapter 9 Achieving Operational Excellence and Customer Intimacy:
Enterprise Applications 338
Opening Case: Avon Beautifies Its Supply Chain 339
9-1 How do enterprise systems help businesses achieve operational
excellence? 341
What are Enterprise Systems? 341 • Enterprise Software 342 • Business
Value of Enterprise Systems 343
9-2 How do supply chain management systems coordinate planning,
production, and logistics with suppliers? 344
Interactive Session | Management Soma Bay Prospers with ERP in the
Cloud 345
The Supply Chain 346 • Information Systems and Supply Chain
Management 348 • Supply Chain Management Software 349 •
Global Supply Chains and the Internet 350 • Business Value of Supply
Chain Management Systems 352
9-3 How do customer relationship management systems help firms
achieve customer intimacy? 352
What Is Customer Relationship Management? 353 • Customer Relationship
Management Software 353 • Operational and Analytical CRM 357 •
Business Value of Customer Relationship Management Systems 357
xii Contents
14-4 What are the principal risk factors in information systems projects, and
how can they be managed? 544
Dimensions of Project Risk 544 • Change Management and the Concept
of Implementation 545 • Controlling Risk Factors 547 • Designing for the
Organization 550 • Project Management Software Tools 551
Interactive Session | Management ConocoPhillips Implements a New System
for Access Control 552
14-5 How will MIS help my career? 553
The Company 553
Interactive Session | Technology Arup Moves Project Management to the
Cloud 554
Position Description 555 • Job Requirements 555 • Interview
Questions 556 • Author Tips 556
Review Summary 556 • Key Terms 557 • Review Questions 557 •
Discussion Questions 558
Hands-On MIS Projects 558
Collaboration and Teamwork Project 559
Case Study: Pennsylvania’s Unemployment Compensation Modernization
System: Unfinished Business 560
References: 562
Glossary G-1
Indexes I-1
BUSINESS CASES AND INTERACTIVE SESSIONS
Here are some of the business firms you will find described in the cases and Interactive Sessions of
this book:
New Features
• New Career Opportunities section in each chapter, identified by ,
shows students specifically how this book can help them find a job and
build their careers. The last major section of each chapter presents a
description of an entry-level job for a recent college graduate based on a
real-world job description. The job requirements are related to the topics
covered in that chapter. The job description shows the required educa-
tional background and skills, lists business-related questions that might
arise during the job interview, and provides author tips for answering the
questions and preparing for the interview.
• New Conceptual Videos collection includes 45 conceptual videos of
3 to 5 minutes in length. Ken Laudon walks students through three of
the most important concepts in each chapter using a contemporary ani-
mation platform. Available only in the MyLab MIS digital edition.
• New Video Cases collection: 36 video cases (two or more per chapter)
and 10 additional instructional videos covering key concepts and experi-
ences in the MIS world. The video cases illustrate how real-world cor-
porations and managers are using information technology and systems.
Video Cases are listed at the beginning of each chapter.
• Learning Tracks: 49 Learning Tracks in MyLab MIS for additional cov-
erage of selected topics. This edition includes new Learning Tracks for
case-based reasoning and fuzzy logic.
New Topics
The 16th edition features all new opening, closing, and Interactive Session
cases. The text, figures, tables, and cases have been updated through September
2018 with the latest sources from industry and MIS research. New topics and
coverage include:
• Updated coverage of artificial intelligence (AI): Chapter 11 has
been rewritten to include new coverage of machine learning, “deep
learning,” natural language systems, computer vision systems, and
robotics, r eflecting the surging interest in business uses of AI and
“intelligent” techniques.
• Big Data and the Internet of Things: In-depth coverage of big data, big
data analytics, and the Internet of Things (IoT) in Chapters 1, 6, 7, and 12.
Includes big data analytics, analyzing IoT data streams, Hadoop, in-memory
computing, nonrelational databases, data lakes, and analytic platforms.
xx
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
But there are times when he gets on my nerves. He has a faded old
bathrobe that saw him through college and his honeymoon, and that
he still refuses to part with, and he had it on.
It was rather short, and Bill's legs, though serviceable, are not
beautiful.
He waved his hand to me.
"If you'd do a little of that sort of thing, Clara," he called, "you
wouldn't need to have the fat rubbed off you by an expensive
masseuse."
"Quite a typical husbandly speech!" said Carrie Smith.
"Do they ever think of anything but exercise and expense?"
Well, the men bathed and dressed and had whisky-and-sodas, and
came out patronisingly and joined us at tea on the terrace. But
inside of ten minutes they were in a group round the ball news and
the financial page of the evening papers, and we were alone again.
Carrie Smith came over and sat down beside me, with her eyes
narrowed to a slit.
"I didn't want to hurt your feelings, Clara," she said, "but you see
what I mean. They're not interested in us. We manage their houses
and bring up their children. That's all."
As Carrie was the only one who had any children, and as they were
being reared by a trained nurse and a governess, and the baby
yelled like an Apache if Carrie went near him, her air of virtue was
rather out of place. However:
"What would you recommend?" I asked wearily. "They're all alike,
aren't they?"
"Not all." Her eyes were still narrowed. And at that moment Wallie
Smith came over and threw an envelope into her lap.
"It came to the office by mistake," he said grimly. "What made you
have your necklace reset when I'm practically bankrupt?"
"I bought hardly any new stones," she flashed at him. "Anyhow, I
intend to be decently clothed. Tear it up; nobody's paying any bills."
He stalked away, and Carrie looked at me.
"No," she said slowly, "they are not all alike. Thank heaven there are
a few men who don't hoist the dollar mark as a flag. Clara, do you
remember Harry Delaney?"
I looked at Carrie.
A little spot of red had come into each of her cheeks, and her eyes,
mere slits by now, were fixed on the far-away hills.
She and Harry had been engaged years ago, and she threw him over
because of his jealous nature. But she seemed to have forgotten
that.
"Of course," I said, rather startled.
"He was a dear. Sometimes I think he was the most generous soul in
the world. I cannot imagine his fussing about a necklace, or sulking
for hours over a bit of innocent pleasure like my playing a game of
pool after a lot of sleepyheads had gone to bed."
"What time did you and Bill go upstairs?"
"Something after two. We got tired of playing and sat out here and
talked. I knew you wouldn't mind, Clara. You've got too much sense.
Surely a woman ought to be allowed friends, even if she is married."
"Oh, friends!" I retorted. "If she's going to keep her husband a
friend she's got her hands full. Certainly I'm not jealous of you and
Bill, Carrie. But it's not friends most of us want, if you're after the
truth. We want passionate but perfectly respectable, commandment-
keeping lovers!"
Carrie laughed, but her colour died down.
"How silly you are!" she said, and got up. "Maybe we'd like to feel
that we're not clear out of the game, but that's all. We're a little tired
of being taken for granted. I don't want a lover; I want amusement,
and if I'd married Harry Delaney I'd have had it."
"If you'd married him he would have been down there at the pool,
showing off like a goldfish in a bowl, the same as the others."
"He would not. He can't swim," said Carrie, and sauntered away.
Somehow I got the impression that she had been sounding me, and
had got what she wanted. She looked very handsome that night,
and wore the necklace. Someone commented on it at dinner, and
Wallie glared across at it.
"It isn't paid for," he said, "and as far as I can see, it never will be."
Of course, even among old friends, that was going rather far.
Well, the usual thing happened after dinner. The men smoked and
argued, and we sat on the terrace and yawned. When they did come
out it was to say that golf and swimming had made them sleepy,
and Jim Elliott went asleep in his chair. Carrie said very little, except
once to lean over and ask me if I remembered the name of the man
Alice Warrington had thrown over for Ted. When I told her she
settled back into silence again.
The next morning all the husbands were up early and off to the club
for a Sunday's golfing. At ten o'clock a note came in on my breakfast
tray from Carrie.
"Slip on something and come to my room," it said.
When I got there Ida and Alice Warrington were there already, and
Carrie was sitting up in bed, with the same spots of colour I'd seen
before. I curled up on the bed with my hands round my knees.
"Go to it, Carrie," I said. "If it's church, it's too late. If it's a picnic, it
looks like rain."
"Close the door, Ida," said Carrie. "Girls, I'm getting pretty tired of
this."
"Of what?"
"Of dragging the matrimonial ball and chain wherever I go, and
having to hear it clank and swear and sulk, and—all the rest. I'm
tired, and so are all of you. Only I'm more honest."
"It's all rather a mess," Ida said languidly. "But divorce is a mess too.
And, anyhow, what's the use of changing? Just as one gets to know
a man's pet stories, and needn't pretend to laugh at them any more,
why take on a new bunch of stories—or habits?"
"The truth is," said Carrie, ignoring her, "that they have all the good
times. They don't have to look pretty. Their clothes last forever. And
they're utterly selfish socially. You girls know how much they dance
with the married women when there are any débutantes about."
We knew.
"The thing to do," said Carrie, "is to bring them back to a sense of
obligation. They've got us. We stay put. They take us to parties and
get up a table of bridge for us, and go off to a corner with a chit just
out of school, or dance through three handkerchiefs and two collars,
and grumble at paying our bridge losses. Or else they stay at home,
and nothing short of a high explosive would get them out of their
chairs."
"Destructive criticism," said Alice Warrington, "never gets anywhere.
We agree with you. There's no discussion. Are you recommending
the high explosive?"
"I am," said Carrie calmly. "I propose to wake them up, and to have
a good time doing it."
Well, as it turned out, it was I who wakened them up, and nobody
had a very good time about it.
"There's just one man a husband is always jealous of," Carrie went
on, and her eyes were slitted as usual. "That's the man his wife
could have married and didn't."
I expect I coloured, for Bill has always been insanely jealous of
Roger Waite, although honestly I never really cared for Roger. We
used to have good times together, of course. You know.
Carrie's plan came out by degrees.
"It will serve two purposes," she said. "It will bring the men to a
sense of responsibility, and stop this silly nonsense about bills and all
that sort of thing. And it will be rather fun. It's a sin to drop old
friends. Does Wallie drop his? Not so you could notice it. Every time
I'm out of town he lives at Grace Barnabee's."
Carrie had asked us all to spend the next week-end with her, but the
husbands were going to New York for the polo game and she had
called the party off. But now it was on again.
"Do you girls remember the house party I had when Wallie was in
Cuba, before we were engaged? We had a gorgeous time. I'm going
to repeat it. It's silly to say lightning doesn't strike twice in the same
place. Of course it does, if one doesn't use lightning rods. Peter
Arundel for Alice, and Roger for you, Clara. Ida, you were in Europe,
but we'll let you in. Who'll you have?"
"Only one?" asked Ida.
"Only one."
Ida chose Wilbur Bayne, and Carrie wrote the notes right there in
bed, with a pillow for a desk, and got ink on my best linen sheets.
"I'm sorry I never thought of it before," she said. "The house party is
bound to be fun, and if it turns out well we'll do it regularly. I'll ask
in a few people for dancing Saturday night, but we'll keep Sunday
for ourselves. We'll have a deliciously sentimental day."
She sat back and threw out her arms.
"Good Lord," she said, "I'm just ripe for a bit of sentiment. I want
about forty-eight hours without bills or butlers or bridge. I'm going
to send my diamond necklace to a safe deposit, and get out my
débutante pearls, and have the wave washed out of my hair, and fill
in the necks of one or two gowns. I warn you fairly, there won't be a
cigarette for any of you."
When I left them they were already talking clothes, and Carrie had a
hand glass and was looking at herself intently in it.
"I've changed, of course," she sighed. "One can't have two children
and not show the wear and tear of maternity. I could take off five
pounds by going on a milk diet. I think I will."
She went on the diet at luncheon that day, and Wallie told her that if
she would cut out heavy dinners and wine her stomach would be her
friend, not her enemy. She glanced at me, but I ignored her.
Somehow I was feeling blue.
The week-end had not been a success, and the girls had not been
slow to tell me about it. The very eagerness with which they planned
for the next week told me what a failure I'd had. Even then the idea
of getting even somehow with Carrie was in the back of my mind.
The men did some trap shooting that afternoon, and during dinner
Jim started a discussion about putting women on a clothes
allowance and making them keep within it.
"I can systematise my business," he said, "but I can't systematise
my home. I'm spending more now than I'm getting out of the mill."
Wallie Smith came up to scratch about that time by saying that his
mother raised him with the assistance of a nursemaid, and no
governess and trained nurse nonsense.
"That is why I insist on a trained nurse and a governess," said Carrie
coldly, and took another sip of milk.
They went home that night, and Bill, having seen them into the
motors, came up on the terrace.
"Bully party, old dear," he said enthusiastically. "Have 'em often,
won't you?"
He sat down near me and put a hand over mine. All at once I was
sorry I'd accepted Carrie's invitation. Not that there would be any
harm in seeing Roger again, but because Bill wouldn't like it. The
touch of his warm hand on mine, the quiet of the early summer
night after the noise that had gone before, the scent of the
honeysuckle over the pergola, all combined to soften me.
"I'm glad you had a good time, Bill," I said after a little silence. "I'm
afraid the girls didn't enjoy it much. You men were either golfing or
swimming or shooting, and there wasn't much to do but talk."
Bill said nothing. I thought he might be resentful, and I was in a
softened mood.
"I didn't really mind your staying downstairs the other night with
Carrie," I said. "Bill, do smell the honeysuckle. Doesn't it remind you
of the night you asked me to marry you?"
Still Bill said nothing. I leaned over and looked at him. As usual he
was asleep.
About the middle of the week Roger Waite called me up. We did not
often meet—two or three times in the winter at a ball, or once in a
season at a dinner. Ida Elliott always said he avoided me because it
hurt him to see me. We had been rather sentimental. He would
dance once with me, saying very little, and go away as soon as he
decently could directly the dance was over. Sometimes I had thought
that it pleased him to fancy himself still in love with me, and it's
perfectly true that he showed no signs of marrying. It was rather the
thing for the débutantes to go crazy about Roger. He had an air of
knowing such a lot and keeping it from them.
"Why don't you keep him around?" Ida asked me once. "He's so
ornamental. I'm not strong for tame cats, but I wouldn't mind Roger
on the hearthrug myself."
But up to this time I'd never really wanted anybody on the hearthrug
but Bill. If I do say it, I was a perfectly contented wife until the time
Carrie Smith made her historic effort to revive the past. "Let sleeping
dogs lie" is my motto now—and tame cats too.
Well, Roger called me up, and there was the little thrill in his voice
that I used to think he kept for me. I know better now.
"What's this about going out to Carrie Smith's?" he said over the
phone.
"That's all," I replied. "You're invited and I'm going."
"O!" said Roger. And waited a moment. Then:
"I was going on to the polo," he said, "but of course—What's wrong
with Bill and polo?"
"He's going."
"Oh!" said Roger. "Well, then, I think I'll go to Carrie's. It sounds too
good to be true—you, and no scowling husband in the offing!"
"It's—it's rather a long time since you and I had a real talk."
"Too long," said Roger. "Too long by about three years."
That afternoon he sent me a great box of flowers. My conscience
was troubling me rather, so I sent them down to the dinner table.
Whatever happened I was not going to lie about them.
But Bill only frowned.
"I've just paid a florist's bill of two hundred dollars," he grumbled.
"Cut out the American beauties, old dear."
It was not his tone that made me angry. It was his calm assumption
that I had bought the things. As if no one would think of sending me
flowers!
"If you would stop sending orchids to silly débutantes when they
come out," I snapped, "there would be no such florist's bills."
One way or another Bill got on my nerves that week. He brought
Wallie Smith home one night to dinner, and Wallie got on my nerves
too. I could remember, when Wallie and Carrie were engaged and
we were just married, how he used to come and talk us black in the
face about Carrie.
"How's Carrie, Wallie?" I said during the soup.
"She's all right," he replied, and changed the subject. But later in the
evening, while Bill was walking on the lawn with a cigar, he broke
out for fair.
"Carrie's on a milk diet," he said apropos of nothing. "If she stays on
it another week I'm going to Colorado. She's positively brutal, and
she hasn't ordered a real dinner for anybody for a week."
"Really!" I said.
He got up and towered over me.
"Look here, Clara," he said; "you're a sensible woman. Am I fat? Am
I bald? Am I a doddering and toothless venerable? To hear Carrie
this past few days you'd think I need to wear overshoes when I go
out in the grass."
I rather started, because I'd been looking at Bill at that minute and
wondering if he was getting his feet wet. He had only pumps on.
"It isn't only that she's brutal," he said, "she has soft moments when
she mothers me. Confound it, I don't want to be mothered! She's
taken off eight pounds," he went on gloomily. "And that isn't the
worst." He lowered his voice. "I found her crying over some old
letters the other day. She isn't happy, Clara. You know she could
have married a lot of fellows. She was the most popular girl I ever
knew."
Well, I'd known Carrie longer than he had, and of course a lot of
men used to hang round her house because there was always
something to do. But I'd never known that such a lot of them made
love to Carrie or wanted to marry her. She was clever enough to
hesitate over Wallie, but, believe me, she knew she had him cinched
before she ran any risk. However:
"I'm sure you've tried to make her happy," I said. "But of course she
was awfully popular."
I'm not so very keen about Carrie, but the way I felt that week,
when it was a question between a husband and a wife, I was for the
wife. "Of course," I said as Bill came within hearing distance, "it's
not easy, when one's had a lot of attention, to settle down to one
man, especially if the man is considerably older and—and settled."
That was a wrong move, as it turned out. For Bill, who never says
much, got quieter than ever, and announced, just before he went to
bed, that he'd given up the polo game. I was furious. I'd had one or
two simple little frocks run up for Carrie's party, and by the greatest
sort of luck I'd happened on a piece of flowered lawn almost exactly
like one Roger used to be crazy about.
For twenty-four hours things hung in the balance. Bill has a hideous
way of doing what he says he'll do. Roger had sent more flowers—
not roses this time, but mignonette and valley lilies, with a few white
orchids. It looked rather bridey. It would have been too maddening
to have Bill queer the whole thing at the last minute.
But I fixed things at bridge one night by saying that I thought
married people were always better off for short separations, and that
I was never so fond of Bill as when he'd been away for a few days.
"Polo for me!" said Bill.
And I went out during my dummy hand and telephoned Carrie.
I hope I have been clear about the way the thing began. I feel that
my situation should be explained. For one thing, all sorts of silly
stories are going round, and it is stupid of people to think they
cannot ask Roger and me to the same dinners. If Bill would only act
like a Christian, and not roar the moment his name is mentioned,
there would be a chance for the thing to die out. But you know what
Bill is.
Well, the husbands left on Saturday morning, and by eleven o'clock
Ida, Alice and I were all at Carrie's. The change in her was simply
startling. She looked like a willow wand. She'd put her hair low on
her neck, and except for a touch of black on her eyelashes, and of
course her lips coloured, she hadn't a speck of makeup on. She'd
taken the pearls out of her ears, too, and she wore tennis clothes
and flat-heeled shoes that made her look like a child.
She was sending the children off in the car as we went up the drive.
"They're off to mother's," she said. "I'll miss them frightfully, but this
is a real lark, girls, and I can't imagine anything more killing to
romance than small children."
She kissed the top of the baby's head, and he yelled like a trooper.
Then the motor drove off, and, as Alice Warrington said, the stage
was set.
"Get your tennis things on," Carrie said. "The men will be here for
lunch."
We said with one voice that we wouldn't play tennis. It was too hot.
She eyed us coldly.
"For heaven's sake," she said, "play up. Nobody asked you to play
tennis. But if you are asked don't say it's too hot. Do any of the
flappers at the club ever find it too hot to play? Sprain an ankle or
break a racket, but don't talk about its being too violent, or that
you've given it up the last few years. Try to remember that for two
days you're in the game again, and don't take on a handicap to
begin with."
Well, things started off all right, I'll have to admit that, although
Carrie looked a trifle queer when Harry Delaney, getting out of the
motor that had brought them from the station, held out a baby's
rattle to her.
"Found it in the car," he said. "How are the youngsters anyhow?"
"Adorable!" said Carrie, and flung the rattle into the house.
Roger came straight to me and took both my hands.
"Upon my word, Clara," he said, "this is more luck than I ever
expected again. Do you remember the last time we were all here
together?"
"Of course I do." He was still holding my hands and I felt rather silly.
But the others had paired off instantly and no one was paying any
attention.
"I was almost suicidal that last evening. You—you had just told me,
you know."
I withdrew my hands. When a man is being sentimental I like him to
be accurately sentimental. It had been a full month after that house
party, at a dance Carrie gave, that I had told him of my engagement
to Bill. However, I said nothing and took a good look at Roger. He
was wonderful.
Why is it that married men lose their boyishness, and look smug and
sleek and domesticated almost before the honeymoon is over? Roger
stood there with his hat in his hand and the hot noon sun shining on
him. And he hadn't changed a particle, except that his hair was grey
over his ears and maybe a bit thinner. He was just as eager, just as
boyish, just as lean as he'd ever been. And positively he was
handsomer than ever.
Bill is plain. He is large and strong, of course, but he says himself his
face must have been cut out with an axe. "Rugged and true," he
used to call himself. But lately, in spite of golf, he had put on weight.
Well, to get on.
Luncheon was gay. Everyone sat beside the person he wanted to sit
beside, and said idiotic things, and Peter Arundel insisted on feeding
Alice's strawberries to her one by one. Nobody talked bills or the
high cost of living. Roger is a capital raconteur, and we laughed until
we wept over his stories. I told some of Bill's stock jokes and they
went with a hurrah. At three o'clock we were still at the table, and
when Carrie asked the men if they wanted to run over to the
Country Club for a couple of hours of golf Wilbur Bayne put the
question to a vote and they voted "No" with a roar.
I remember that Harry Delaney said a most satisfactory thing just as
luncheon was over.
"It's what I call a real party," he said. "After a man is thirty or
thereabouts he finds débutantes still thrilling, of course, but not
restful. They're always wanting to go somewhere or do something.
They're too blooming healthy. The last week-end I spent I danced
until 4 a. m. and was wakened at seven-thirty by a fair young flower
throwing gravel through my open window and inviting me to a walk
before breakfast!"
"Anyone seen about the place before eleven to-morrow morning,"
said Carrie, "will be placed under restraint. For one thing, it would
make the servants talk. They're not used to it."
So far so good. I'll confess freely that if they'd let me alone I'd never
have thought of getting even. But you know Carrie Smith. She has
no reserves. And she had to tell about my party and the way the
husbands behaved.
"Don't glare, Clara," she said. "Your house is nice and your food and
drink all that could be desired. But it was not a hilarious party, and
I'll put it up to the others."
Then and there she told about the swimming and the golf and the
knitting. The men roared. She exaggerated, of course. Bill did not go
to sleep at dinner. But she made a good story of it, and I caught
Roger's eye fixed on me with a look that said plainly that he'd always
known I'd made a mistake, and here was the proof.
We went out into the garden and sat under a tree. But soon the
others paired off and wandered about. Roger and I were left alone,
and I was boiling.
"Don't look like that, little girl," said Roger, bending toward me. "It
hurts me terribly to—to think you are not happy."
He put a hand over mine, and at that moment Alice Warrington
turned from a rosebush she and Peter were pretending to examine,
and saw me. She raised her eyebrows, and that gave me the idea. I
put my free hand over Roger's and tried to put my soul into my
eyes.
"Don't move," I said. "Hold the position for a moment, Roger, and
look desperately unhappy."
"I am," he said. "Seeing you again brings it all back. Are they
looking? Shall I kiss your hand?"
I looked over. Alice and Peter were still staring.
"Bend over," I said quickly, "and put your cheek against it. It's more
significant and rather hopeless. I'll explain later."
He did extremely well. He bent over passionately until his head was
almost in my lap, and I could see how carefully his hair was brushed
over a thin place at the crown. Thank goodness, Bill keeps his hair
anyhow!
"How's this?" he said in a muffled voice.
"That's plenty." I'd made up my mind, and I meant to go through
with it. But I felt like a fool. There's something about broad daylight
that makes even real sentiment look idiotic.
He sat up and looked into my eyes.
"There are times," he said, raising his voice, "when I feel I can't
stand it. I'm desperately—desperately unhappy, Clara."
"We must make the best of things," I said, and let my eyes wander
toward Alice and Peter. They had turned and were retreating swiftly
through the garden.
"Now," said Roger, sitting back and smoothing his hair, "what's it all
about?"
So I told him and explained my plan. Even now, when I never want
to see him again, I must admit that Roger is a sport. He never
turned a hair.
"Of course I'll do it. It isn't as hard as you imagine. Our meeting like
this revives the old fire. I'm mad about you, recklessly mad, and
you're crazy about me. All right so far. But a thing like that won't
throw much of a crimp into Carrie. Probably she expects it."
"To-night," I explained, "we'll be together, but silent and moody.
When we smile at their nonsense it is to be a forced smile. We're
intent on ourselves. Do you see? And you might go to Carrie after
dinner and tell her you think you'll go. You can't stand being near
me. It's too painful. I'll talk to one of the men too."
He looked rather uncomfortable.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, Clara. They wouldn't understand."
"Not about you," I retorted coldly. "I'll merely indicate that Bill and I
aren't hitting it off, and that a woman has a right to be happy. Then,
when things happen, they'll remember what I said."
He turned round his wicker chair so that he faced me.
"When things happen?" he said. "What things?"
"When we elope to-morrow night," I replied.
I'm not defending myself. Goodness knows I've gone through all
that. I am merely explaining. And I think Roger deserves part of the
blame, but of course the woman always suffers. If he had only been
frank with me at the time it need never have happened. Besides,
I've been back to that bridge again and again, and with ordinary
intelligence and a hammer he could have repaired it. It is well
enough for him to say he didn't have a hammer. He should have had
a hammer.
At the mention of an elopement Roger changed colour, but I did not
remember that until afterward. He came up to scratch rather
handsomely, when he was able to speak, but he insisted that I write
the whole thing to Bill.
"I can tell him afterward," I protested.
"That won't help me if he has beaten me up first. You write him to
the office, so he'll get it Monday morning when he gets back from
the game. If anything should slip up you're protected, don't you see?
Tell him it's a joke and why we're doing it. I—I hope Bill has kept his
sense of humor."
Well, it looked simple enough. We were to act perfectly silly and
moonstruck all the rest of that day and Sunday until we had them all
thoroughly worried. Then on Sunday night we were to steal Wallie's
car and run away in it. The through train stops at a station about
four miles away, at eleven-fourteen at night, and we were to start
that way and then turn around and go to mother's.
We planned it thoroughly, I must say. Roger said he'd get one of the
fellows to cash a check for all the money he had about him. They'd
be sure to think of that when Carrie got my note. And I made a draft
of the note then and there on the back of an old envelope from
Roger's pocket. We made it as vague as possible.
"Dear Carrie," it ran, "by the time you receive this I shall be on my
way to happiness. Try to forgive me. I couldn't stand things another
moment. We only live one life and we all make mistakes. Read Ellen
Key and don't try to follow me. I'm old enough to know my own
mind, and all you have been saying this last few days has convinced
me that when a chance for happiness comes one is a fool not to
take it. Had it not been for you I should never have had my eyes
opened to what I've been missing all this time. I have wasted my
best years, but at last I am being true to myself. Clara."
"Now," I said, rather viciously I dare say, "let her read that and
throw a fit. She'll never again be able to accuse me of making things
dull for her."
Roger read it over.
"We'd better write Bill's letter," he said, "and get it off. We—it
wouldn't do to have Bill worried, you know."
So we went into the house and wrote Bill's letter. We explained
everything—how stupid they'd all found our party and that this was
only a form of revenge.
"Suppose," Roger said as I sealed it, "suppose they get excited and
send for the police?"
That stumped us. It was one thing to give them a bad night, and
telephone them in the morning that it was a joke and that I'd gone
direct from Carrie's to mother's, which was the arrangement. But
Carrie was a great one for getting in detectives. You remember, the
time her sister was married, that Carrie had a detective in the house
for a week before the wedding watching the presents, and how at
the last minute the sister wanted to marry the detective, who was a
good-looking boy, and they had a dreadful time getting her to the
church.
We both thought intently for quite a time.
"We must cut the telephone wire, Roger," I said at length.
Roger was not eager about cutting the telephone. He said he would
probably be shocked to death, although if he could find a pair of
rubber overshoes he'd take the risk.
"It ought to be done the very last thing," he said. "No use rousing
their suspicions early."
We played up hard all afternoon. Roger kissed the lump of sugar he
put in my tea, and went and sulked on the parapet when Peter
Arundel came and sat beside me. Carrie joined him there, and I
could see her talking earnestly to him while Roger looked out over
the landscape with eyes that were positively sombre.
"Having a good time?" said Peter Arundel to me.
"Heavenly, Peter," I replied, looking at Roger. "I didn't believe I could
be so happy."
"Go to it," said Peter. "What's a day or two out of a lifetime."
I turned round and faced him, my hands gripped hard in my lap.
"That's it," I said tensely. "That's the thought that's killing me. One
can only be happy for a day or two."
"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as that," said Peter. "You have a pretty fair
time, you know, Clara. Old Bill's a good sort."
"Oh, Bill!" I said.
"I went to college with Bill. Maybe Bill hasn't any frills, but he's a real
man." He glared at Roger's drooping shoulders. "He's no tailor's
dummy anyhow."
I ignored this.
"Peter," I said in a thin voice, "have you ever read Ellen Key?"
"Not on your life!" said Peter.
I quoted a bit I happened to remember.
"'Nothing is wiser than the modern woman's desire to see life with
her own eyes, not only with those of a husband.'" I sighed.
"If I were Bill," said Peter, "I'd burn that book."
"'Nothing,'" I continued, "'is more true than that souls which are
parted by a lack of perfect frankness never belonged to one
another.'"
"Look here," said Peter, and got up; "I think you've lost your mind,
Clara—you and Roger Waite both. Look at him mooning over there.
I'd like to turn the garden hose on him."
I looked at Roger—a long gaze that made Peter writhe.
"'Love's double heartbeat'——" I began. But Peter stalked away,
muttering.
Carrie had left Roger, so I put down my cup and followed him to the
parapet of the terrace.
"Darling!" he said. And then, finding Peter was not with me: "How's
it going?"
"Cracking! They're all worried already."
"We've hardly started. Slip your arm through mine, Clara, and I'll
hold your hand. Dear little hand!" he said. "When I think that instead
of that ring——" Here he choked and kissed my hand. Then I saw
that Harry Delaney was just below the wall.
Carrie's voice broke in on our philandering.
"If," she said coldly, "you two people can be pried apart with a
crowbar for a sufficient length of time, we will motor to Bubbling
Spring. There's just time before dinner."
"I don't think I'll go, Carrie," I said languidly. "I have a headache and
Roger has just offered to read to me. Do you remember how you
used to cure my headaches, Roger?"
"I'd rather not talk about those days, Clara," said Roger in a shaky
voice.
"I wish you two people could see and hear yourselves!" Carrie cried
furiously, and turned on her heel.
"I guess that will hold her for a while," Roger purred. "Clara, you're
an angel and an inspiration. I haven't had such a good time since I
had scarlet fever."
Dinner, which should have been gay, was simply noisy. They were all
worried, and it is indicative of how Carrie had forgotten her pose and
herself that she wore her diamond necklace. Roger had been placed
at the other end of the table from me, but he slipped in and
changed the cards. There were half a dozen dinner guests, but
Roger and I ate little or nothing.
"Act as though the thought of food sickens you," I commanded.
"But I'm starving!"
"I'll have my maid take a tray into the garden later."
In spite of me he broke over at the entrée, which was extremely
good. But everyone saw that we were not eating. The woman on
Roger's right, a visitor, took advantage of a lull in the noise to accuse
Roger of being in love. Ida giggled, but Roger turned to his
neighbour.
"I am in love," he said mournfully; "hopelessly, idiotically, madly,
recklessly in love."
"With any particular person?"
"With you," said Roger, who had never seen her before.
She quite fluttered.
"But I am married!"
"Unfortunate, but not fatal," said Roger distinctly, while everyone
listened. "These days one must be true to one's self."
We were awfully pleased with ourselves that evening. I said my head
still ached and I could not dance. Roger and I sat out-of-doors most
of the time, and at eleven o'clock Powell, my maid, brought out a
tray of what was left from dinner and the dance supper. She took it
by order to a small shaded porch off the billiard room, and we found
her there with it.
"Thank you, Powell," I said. But Roger followed her into the house.
When he returned he was grinning.
"Might as well do it right while we're about it," he observed. "To-
morrow morning Powell will go to Carrie and tell her you sat up all
night by the window, and she's afraid you are going to be ill."
In the dusk we shook hands over the tray.
Well, a lot of things happened, such as our overhearing the men in
the billiard room debating about getting poor old Bill on the long
distance.
"It isn't a flirtation," said Wilbur Bayne. "I've seen Clara flirting many
a time. But this is different. They're reckless, positively reckless.
When a man as fond of his stomach as Roger lets a whole meal go
by, he's pretty far gone."
Roger bent over, with a part of a squab in his hand.
"Have they bitten!" he said. "They've not only swallowed hook, line
and sinker but they're walking up the bank to put themselves in the
basket!"
Well, the next morning it was clear that the girls had decided on a
course and were following it. Although it had been arranged that
everyone was to sleep late, breakfast trays appeared in the rooms at
nine-thirty, with notes asking us to go to church. When I said I had
not slept, and did not care to go, no one went, and when Roger
appeared at eleven the girls surrounded me like a cordon of police.
Roger was doing splendidly. He came up across the tennis court,
covered with dust, and said he had not slept and had been walking
since six o'clock. The men eyed him with positive ferocity.
I'll not go into the details of that day, except to relate a conversation
Ida Elliott and I had after luncheon. She came into my room and
closed the door behind her softly, as if I were ill.
"Well," she said, "I did think, Clara, that if you didn't have any sense,
you would have some consideration for Carrie."
I had been addressing the envelope to Bill, and so I shoved a sheet
of paper over it.
"I'm not going to try to read what you are writing," she said rudely.
"What do you mean about Carrie?"
"She's almost ill, that's all. How could anyone have had any idea that
Roger and you——" She fairly choked.
"Roger and I are only glad to be together again," I said defiantly.
Then I changed to a wistful tone. Just hearing it made me sorry for
myself. "We are old friends; Carrie knew that. It is cruel of you all to
—to spoil the little bit of happiness I can get out of life."
"What about Bill?"
"Bill?" I said vaguely. "Oh—Bill! Well, Bill would never stand in the
way of my being true to myself. He would want me to be happy."
I put my handkerchief suddenly to my eyes, and she gave me a
scathing glance.
"I'm going to telephone Bill," she said. "You're not sane, Clara. And
when you come back to your senses it may be too late."
She flounced out, and I knew she would call Bill if she could. From
the window I could see that Harry Delaney had Roger by the arm
and was walking him up and down. It was necessary, if the fun was
to go on, to disconnect the telephone. I ran down to the library and
dropped the instrument on the floor twice, but when I put it to my
ear to see if it was still working I found it was, for Central was
saying: "For the love of heaven, something nearly busted my
eardrum!"
Ida had not come down yet, and the telephone was on a table in the
corner, beside a vase of flowers. When I saw the flowers I knew I
was saved. I turned the vase over and let the water soak into the
green cord that covers the wires. I knew it would short-circuit the
telephone, for once one of the maids at home, washing the floor,
had wet the cord, and we were cut off for an entire day.
During the afternoon I gave Harry Delaney the letter to Bill. Harry
was going to the little town that was the post office to get
something for Carrie.
"You won't forget to mail it, will you, Harry?" I asked in a pathetic
voice.
He read the address and looked at me.
"What are you writing to Bill for, Clara? He'll be home in the
morning."
I looked confused. Then I became frank.
"I'm writing him something I don't particularly care to tell him."
He fairly groaned and thrust the thing into his pocket.
"For refined cruelty and absolute selfishness," he said, "commend
me to the woman with nothing to do but to get into mischief."
"Will you promise to mail it?"
"Oh, I'll mail it all right," he said; "but I give you until six o'clock this
evening to think it over. I'm not going to the station until then."
"To think over what?" I asked, my eyes opened innocently wide. But
he flung away in a fury.
It was rather fun that afternoon. If my party had been dreary on
Sunday it was nothing to Carrie's. They'd clearly all agreed to stay
round and keep Roger and me apart. Everybody sulked, and the
men got the Sunday newspapers and buried themselves in them.
Once I caught Roger dropping into a doze. He had refused the paper
and had been playing up well, sitting back in his chair with his cap
over his eyes and gazing at me until everybody wiggled.
"Roger," I called, when I saw his eyes closing, "are you game for a
long walk?"
Roger tried to look eager.
"Sure," he said.
"Haven't you a particle of humanity?" Carrie demanded. She knew
some of them would have to go along, and nobody wanted to walk.
It was boiling. "He has been up since dawn and he's walked miles."
Roger ignored her.
"To the ends of the world—with you, Clara," he said, and got up.
In the end they all went. It was a tragic-looking party. We walked for
miles and miles, and Carrie was carrying her right shoe when we got
back. It was too late to dress for dinner, and everyone was worn out.
So we went in as we were.
"I'm terribly sorry it's nearly over," I babbled as the soup was coming
in. "It has been the most wonderful success, hasn't it? Ida, won't
you have us all next week? Maybe we can send the husbands to the
yacht races."
"Sorry," said Ida coldly; "I've something else on."
Worried as they were, nobody expected us to run away. How to let
them know what had happened, and put a climax to their
discomfiture, was the question. I solved it at last by telling Powell to
come in at midnight with the sleeping medicine Carrie had given her
for me. I knew, when she found I was not there, she would wait and
at last raise the alarm. What I did not know was that she would
come in half an hour early, and cut off our lead by thirty minutes.
The evening dragged like the afternoon, and so thoroughly was the
spice out of everything for them all, that when I went upstairs at
ten-thirty Ida Elliott was singing Jim's praises to Wilbur Bayne, and
Carrie had got out the children's photographs and was passing them
round.
As I went out through the door Roger opened for me, he bowed
over my hand and kissed it.
"Oh, cut it out!" I heard Peter growl, and there was a chorus from
the others.
I had to stop in the hall outside and laugh. It was the last time I
laughed for a good many hours.
By eleven I was ready. Everyone was upstairs, and Carrie had found
out about the telephone by trying to call up her mother to inquire
about the children. I had packed a small suitcase and at Roger's
whistle I was to drop it out the window to him. Things began to go
wrong with that, for just as I was ready to drop it someone rapped
at my door. I swung it too far out, and it caught Roger full in the
chest and carried him over backward. I had just time to see him
disappear in the shrubbery with a sort of dull thud when Alice
Warrington knocked again.
She came in and sat on the bed.
"I don't want to be nasty, Clara," she said, "but you know how fond I
am of you, and I don't want you to misunderstand Roger. It's his
way to make violent love to people and then get out. Of course you
know he's being very attentive to Maisie Brown. She's jealous of you
now. Somebody told her Roger used to be crazy about you. If she
hears of this——"
"Clara!" said Roger's voice under the window.
Alice rose, with the most outraged face I've ever seen.
"He is positively shameless," she said. "As for you, Clara, I can't tell
you how I feel."
"Clara!" said Roger. "I must speak to you. Just one word."
Alice swept out of the room and banged the door. I went to the
window.
"Something seems to have broken in the dratted thing," he said. "It
smells like eau de Cologne. I'm covered with it."
As it developed later it was eau de Cologne. I have never got a whiff
of it since that I don't turn fairly sick. And all of that awful night
Roger fairly reeked with it.
Well, by midnight everything was quiet, and I got downstairs and
into the drive without alarming anyone. Roger was waiting, and for
some reason or other—possibly the knock—he seemed less
enthusiastic.
"I hope Harry remembered the letter to Bill," he said. "Whether this
thing is a joke or not depends on the other person's sense of humor.
What in heaven's name made you put scent in your bag?"
He had his car waiting at the foot of the drive, and just as I got in
we heard it thunder.
"How far is it to your mother's?"
"Twelve miles."
"It's going to rain."
"Rain or not, I'm not going back, Roger," I said. "Imagine Bill's
getting that letter for nothing."
He got into the car and it began to rain at once. Everyone knows
about that storm now. We had gone about four miles when the sky
fairly opened. The water beat in under the top and washed about
our feet. We drove up to the hubs in water, and the lights, instead of
showing us the way, only lit up a wall of water ahead. It was like
riding into Niagara Falls. We were pretty sick, I can tell you.
"Why didn't you look at the sky?" I yelled at Roger, above the
beating of the storm. "Bill can always tell when it's going to storm."
"Oh, damn Bill!" said Roger, and the car slid off the road and into a
gully. Roger just sat still and clutched the wheel.
"Aren't you going to do something?" I snapped. "I'm not going to sit
here all night and be drowned."
"Is there anything you could suggest?"
"Can't you get out and push it?"
"I cannot."
But after five minutes or so he did crawl out, and by tying my
suitcase straps round one of the wheels he got the car back into the
road. I daresay I was a trifle pettish by that time.
"I wish you wouldn't drip on me," I said.
"I beg your pardon," he replied, and moved as far from me as he
could.
We went on in silence. At last:
"There's one comfort about getting that soaking," he said: "it's
washed that damned perfume off."
There's one thing about Bill, he keeps his temper. And he doesn't
raise the roof when he gets his clothes wet. He rather likes getting
into difficulties, to show how well he can get out of them. But Roger
is like a cat. He always hated to get his feet wet.
"If you had kept the car in the centre of the road you wouldn't have
had to get out," I said shortly.
"Oh, well, if you're going back to first causes," he retorted, "if you'd
never suggested this idiotic thing I wouldn't be laying up a case of
lumbago at this minute."
"Lumbago is middle-aged, isn't it?"
"We're neither of us as young as we were a few years ago."
That was inexcusable. Roger is at least six years older than I am.
Besides, even if it were true, there was no necessity for him to say
it. But there was no time to quarrel, for at that moment we were
going across a bridge over a small stream. It was a river now. The
first thing I knew was that the car shook and rocked and there was a
dull groaning underneath. The next minute we had gone slowly
down about four feet and the creek was flowing over us.
We said nothing at first. The lights went off almost immediately, as
the engine drowned, and there we sat in the flood, and the first
thing I knew I was crying.
"The bridge is broken," said Roger, above the rush of the stream.
"I didn't think you were washing the car," I whimpered. "We'll be
drowned, that's all."
The worst of the storm was over, but as far as I was concerned it
might just as well have been pouring. When Roger got his matches
and tried to light one it only made a sick streak of phosphorescence
on the side of the box. To make things worse, Roger turned round,
and where the road crossed the brow of the hill behind us there was
the glow of automobile lamps. He swore under his breath.
"They're coming, Clara," he said. "That fool of a maid didn't wait
until midnight."
The thought of being found like that, waist-deep in water, drove me
to frenzy. I knew how they'd laugh, how they'd keep on laughing for
years. They'd call us the Water Babies probably, or something
equally hateful. I just couldn't stand the thought.
I got up.
"Let them think we're drowned—anything," I said desperately. "I will
not be found like this."
Roger looked about like a hunted animal.
"There's—there's a house near here on the hill," he said. Afterward I
remembered how he hesitated over it. "We could get up there, I'm
pretty sure."
He looked back.
"They seem to have stopped," he said. "Perhaps the other bridge
has gone."
He lifted me out and set me on the bank. He was not particularly
gentle about it, and I was all he could carry. That's one thing about
Bill—he's as strong as an ox and as gentle as a young gazelle.
Well, we scurried up the bank, the water pouring off us, and I lost a
shoe. Roger wouldn't wait until I found it, but dragged me along,
panting. Suddenly I knew that I hated him with a deadly hatred. The
thought of how nearly I had married him made me shiver.
"I wish you'd let go of me," I said.
"Why? You can't climb alone in the silly clothes you wear."
"Perhaps not, but I don't like you to touch me."
"Oh, if you feel like that——" He let me go, and I almost fell. "You
know, Clara, I am trying hard to restrain myself, but—this is all your
doing."
"I suppose I broke the bridge down," I said bitterly, "and brought on
the rain, and all the rest of it."
"Now I recognise the Clara I used to know," he had the audacity to
say, "always begging the question and shifting the responsibility. For
heaven's sake don't stop to quarrel! They've probably found the car
by this time."
We got to the house and I fell exhausted on the steps. To my
surprise Roger got out a bunch of keys and fitted one to the lock.
"I know these people," he said. "I—I sometimes come out in the fall
for a bit of shooting. Place is closed now."
The interior looked dark and smelled musty. I didn't want to go in,
but it was raining again and there was nothing else to do.
"Better overcome your repugnance and give me your hand," he said.
"If we turn on a light they'll spot us."
Oh, it is all very well to say, looking back, that we should have sat in
the car until we were found, and have carried it all off as a part of
the joke. I couldn't, that's flat. I couldn't have laughed if I'd been
paid to.
We bumped into a square hall and I sat down. It was very quiet all
at once, and the only thing to be heard was the water dripping from
us to the hardwood floor.
"If that's a velvet chair you're on it will be ruined," said Roger's voice
out of the darkness.
"I hope it is. Where is the telephone?"
"There is a telephone closet under the stairs."
"You know a lot about this house. Whose is it?"
"It's the Brown place. You know it."
"Maisie Brown's!"
"Yes." He was quite sullen.
"And you have a key like one of the family! Roger, you are engaged
to her!"
"I was," he said. "The chances are when this gets out I won't be."
I don't know why now, but it struck me as funny. I sat and laughed
like a goose, and the more I laughed the harder Roger breathed.
"You've got to see me through this, Clara," he said at last. "You can't
telephone Carrie—you've fixed all that. But you can get your mother.
Tell her the circumstances and have her send a car for you. I'll stay
here to-night. And if you take my advice you'll meet Bill at the train
to-morrow morning and beat Carrie to it. She'll be in town with a line
of conversation by daybreak."
He found some dry matches and led me to the telephone.
Something in the way I dripped, or because I padded across the
floor in one stocking foot, made him a trifle more human.
"I'll close the curtains and light the log fire," he said. "Things are bad
enough without your taking pneumonia."
The moment I took the receiver off the hook I knew the wires were
down somewhere. I sat for a moment, then I opened the door.
Roger was on his knees lighting the fire. He looked very thin, with
his clothes stuck to him, and the hair that he wore brushed over the
bare place had been washed down, and he looked almost bald.
"Roger," I said, with the calmness of despair, "the wires are down!"
"Hush," said Roger suddenly. "And close that door."
It seemed rather foolish to me at the time. Since they had followed
us, they'd know perfectly well that if Roger was there I was.
In walked Maisie Brown and about a dozen other people!
I can still hear the noise they made coming in, and then a silence,
broken by Maisie's voice.
"Why, Roger!" she said.
"Awfully surprising to see you here—I mean, I expect you are
surprised to see me here," said Roger's voice, rather thin and
stringy. "The fact is, I was going by, and—it was raining hard, and I
——"
"Then that was your car in the creek?"
"Well, yes," Roger admitted, after a hesitation. He was evidently
weighing every word, afraid of committing himself to anything
dangerous.
"I thought you were at Carrie Smith's."
"I was on my way home."
Everybody laughed. It was about a dozen miles to Roger's road
home from Carrie's.
"Come on, now, there's a mystery. Own up," said a man's voice.
"Where's the beautiful lady? Drowned?"
Luckily no one waited for an answer. They demanded how he had
got in, and when he said he had a key they laughed again. Some
one told Maisie she might as well confess. If Roger had a key to the
house it required explanation.
If ever I heard cold suspicion in a girl's voice, it was in Maisie's when
she answered:
"Oh, we're engaged all right, if that's what you mean," she said. "But
I think Roger and I——"
They didn't give her a chance to finish, the idiots! They gave three
cheers, and then, as nearly as I could make out, they formed a ring
and danced round them. They'd been to a picnic somewhere, and as
the bridges were down they were there for the night.
Do you think they went to bed?
Not a bit of it. They found some canned things in a pantry, and fixed
some hot drinks and drank to Maisie and Roger. And I sat in the
telephone closet and tried not to sneeze.
I sat there for two hours.
About two o'clock I heard Maisie say she would have to telephone
home, and if a totally innocent person can suffer the way I did I
don't know how a guilty one could live. But Roger leaped in front of
her.
"I'll do it, honey," he said. "I—I was just thinking of telephoning."
They were close to the door.
"Don't call me honey," Maisie said in a tense voice. "I know about
Carrie Smith's party and who was there. After the way Clara has
schemed all these years to get you back, to have you fall into a trap
like that! It's sickening!"
She put her hand on the knob of the door.
"Listen, darling," Roger implored. "I—I don't care a hang for anyone
but you. I'm perfectly wretched. I——"
He pulled her hand off the knob of the door and I heard him kiss it.
"Let me call your mother," he said. "She'll know you are all right
when I'm here."
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