And five minutes later he was calling Rose on the wire.  “Rose, listen to this!  Barry Lake and his wife are here.  He just called up.  They got in from New York at five o’clock, and I’ve asked them out to dinner.  Barry Lake and Jane!  What’s the matter?  Can’t you hear me?...  Why, they’re about the best friends I’ve got.  The magazine writer, you know, and his wife.  And they’re coming out to dinner—­coming right out.  I told them not to dress.  I’ll come straight home myself—­get there before they do, I guess....  Why, Rose, what’s the matter?  Aren’t you well?  Look here!  If you’re below par, and don’t feel like having them come, I can call it off and go over to the hotel and dine with them....  You’d rather we came out to the house?  You’re sure?  Because they won’t mind a bit.  I can take them to a restaurant or anywhere....  All right, if you’re sure it won’t be too much for you.  I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.  Lord, but it was good to hear old Barry’s voice again!  I haven’t seen him for over a year.  You’re sure you’d rather?...  All right.  Good-by.”

But he sat there frowning in a puzzled sort of way for half a minute after he’d pulled the plug.  Rose’s voice had certainly sounded queer.  He was sure she hadn’t planned anything else for to-night.  He distinctly remembered her saying just before he left for the office that they’d have the evening to themselves.  And it was incredible that she minded his bringing home two old friends like the Lakes on the spur of the moment, to take pot-luck.  Oh, well, you couldn’t tell about people’s voices over the telephone.  There must have been something funny about the connection.

An opportune taxi just passing the entrance to his office building as he came out, enabled him to better the fifteen minutes he’d allowed for getting home.  But in spite of this he found Rose rather splendidly gowned for her expected guests.

“Good gracious!” he cried excitedly.  “What did you do that for?  I thought I told you over the phone the Lakes weren’t going to dress.”

“I was—­dressed like this when you telephoned,” Rose said.  “And I was afraid there wouldn’t be time to change into anything else.”

“We weren’t going anywhere, were we?” he asked.  “There’s nothing I’ve forgotten?”

“No,” she said, “we weren’t going anywhere.”

“And you dressed like that just for a—­treat for me?”

She nodded.  “Just for you,” she said.  “Roddy, who are the Lakes?  Oh, I know his articles, I think!  But where were they friends of yours, and when?”

“Why, for years, until they moved to New York.  They used to live here.  I know I must have told you about them.  I was always having dinner with them—­either out in Rogers Park, where they lived, or at queer, terrible little restaurants down-town.  They were always game to try anything, once.  He’s the longest, leanest, angularest, absent-mindedest chap in the world.  And just about the best.