Rodney knew that well enough, of course.  He’d read the Sage Foundation reports on housing; he was familiar with the results of the Pittsburgh Survey.  But the person in question now, wasn’t the Working Girl.  It was his Rose!

Out of all the chaos of thought and feeling that had been boiling within him since the night he had gone with Rose to her room, there emerged, then, two outstanding ideas.  One was that he had outraged her; the other that she simply couldn’t be allowed to go on living as he had found her.

Frederica, naturally, was mystified.  “That’s absurd, of course, Roddy,” she said gently.  “You haven’t done anything to Rose to be forgiven for.”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it,” he said shortly.  “I’m not exaggerating.”

“But, Roddy!” she persisted.  “You must be sensible.  Oh, it’s no wonder!  You’re all worn out.  You look as if you hadn’t slept for nights.  I wish you’d sit down and be a little bit comfortable.  But I know you’re wrong about that!

“I went out to California with the idea that you might have been—­well, awfully stupid about something and hurt Rose dreadfully without knowing it.  I was perfectly ready to be—­on her side, as you say.  I thought we’d have a good talk and I’d find out what it was all about, and then come home and pack you out there yourself.

“Well, of course I didn’t see Rose, and Portia wasn’t very communicative.  She’d always been a little stiff with me.  I never managed to get her altogether.  But she was clear enough about it at any rate, that Rose was more in love with you than ever and she didn’t blame you for a thing.  The thing that she seemed most anxious about was that her mother shouldn’t blame you.  Of course that took the wind out of my sails and I had to come back.  So it’s absurd for you to be talking as if she had a real reason for—­detesting you.”

“She hadn’t, then,” said Rodney, and he walked uneasily away to the window.

“Well, if you mean the other night, the only time you’ve seen her since, then it’s all the more ridiculous.  What if you were angry and lost your temper and hurt her feelings?  Heavens!  Weren’t you entitled to, after what she’d done?  And when she’d left you to find it out like that?”

“I tell you you don’t know the first thing about it.”

“I don’t suppose you—­beat her, did you?” It was too infuriating, having him meek like this!

His reply was barely audible.  “I might better have done it.”

Frederica sprang to her feet.  “Well, then, I’ll tell you!” she said.  “I won’t go to her.  I’ll go if you’ll give me a free hand.  If you’ll let me tell her what I think of what she’s done and the way she’s done it—­not letting you know—­not giving you a chance.  But go and beg her to forgive you, I won’t.

“All right,” he said dully.  “You’re within your rights, of course.”

The miserable scene dragged on a little longer.  Frederica cried and pleaded and stormed, without moving him at all.  He seemed distressed at her grief, urged her to treat his request as if he hadn’t made it; but he explained nothing, answered none of her questions.