Rush then had a long talk by telephone with his father at Ravinia.  Mary didn’t know, of course, what they had said, beyond that John had promised to come down immediately after lunch, but she got the idea that the professional medical attitude had been one of less alarm than the amateur one.  Mary confessed to March, with a flicker of ironic amusement, that she had supported this lighter view so successfully that, a little before noon, Rush had confided to her his wish—­if she were perfectly sure she didn’t need him—­to take the one o’clock train to Lake Geneva.  He and Graham were still expected there for the week-end and on a good many accounts it would be well if he didn’t fail them.  He dreaded going, of course, but he felt he could meet the situation better on the ground whatever turned up.  He could wait for the three o’clock train, but this was the one Mr. Stannard always took and he’d like to get in a talk with Sylvia first.  She was a great pal of her brother’s and might well have some real information about He’d have Pete’s wife come in and look after Mary—­get lunch and so on.  And father would be down about two.

March thought the forlorn smile with which she told him this the most heart-breaking thing he had ever seen.  Damn Rush!  Damn all the sentimentalists in the world.  Dressing up their desires in altruistic clothes.  Loving themselves in a lot of crooked mirrors!

The rest of the story told itself in very few words.  John Wollaston telephoned, about three, from Ravinia, to say that Paula wasn’t well—­meant to sing to-night as she was billed to do (she took great pride in never disappointing her audiences)—­but very much wanted him at hand through the ordeal.  If Mary was feeling as much better as her voice sounded would she mind his not coming until to-morrow morning.

She’d assured him, of course, that she wouldn’t mind a bit.  Aunt Lucile hadn’t arrived yet but she would be coming any minute now.  Rush had been making a great fuss about nothing, anyway.  She did not volunteer the information that Rush had already gone to Lake Geneva.

At five o’clock a telegram, addressed to Rush, had come from Miss Wollaston.  Pete had broken one of the springs of the big car and had had to go to Durham for another.  She hoped Rush and his father would be able to take care of Mary until to-morrow morning when she would arrive with one of the servants and take charge.

That cleared the board.  To-morrow they would descend upon her with their fussy attentions, their medical solemnities, their farcical search for something—­for anything except the truth they wouldn’t let her tell—­to account for her nervous breakdown.  But for a dozen hours she was, miraculously, to be let alone, with blessed open spaces round her.  No need for any frantic haste.  Plenty of time.  The whole of that hot still summer night.

And then, at six o’clock, a man named James Wallace had telephoned!  And Jennie MacArthur had decided to drop in that evening for a visit with Sarah!  Fate had played its part; given March his chance.