She thought of nothing else until Friday came, slipped away from the office a little earlier than usual, and went home planning just the gown and hat most suitable.  Visitors were in the parlor; Auntie, thinking of pan-gravy and hot biscuits, was being visibly driven to madness by them.  Susan charitably took Mrs. Cobb and Annie and Daisy off Mrs. Lancaster’s hands, and listened sympathetically to a dissertation upon the thanklessness of sons.  Mrs. Cobb’s sons, leaving their mother and their unmarried sisters in a comfortable home, had married the women of their own choice, and were not yet forgiven.

“And how’s Alfie doing?” Mrs. Cobb asked heavily, departing.

“Pretty well.  He’s in Portland now, he has another job,” Susan said cautiously.  Alfred was never criticized in his mother’s hearing.  A moment later she closed the hall door upon the callers with a sigh of relief, and ran downstairs.

The telephone bell was ringing.  Susan answered it.

“Hello Miss Brown!  You see I know you in any disguise!” It was Peter Coleman’s voice.

“Hello!” said Susan, with a chill premonition.

“I’m calling off that party to-night,” said Peter.  “I’m awfully sorry.  We’ll do it some other night.  I’m in Berkeley.”

“Oh, very well!” Susan agreed, brightly.

“Can you hear me?  I say I’m—–­”

“Yes, I hear perfectly.”

“What?”

“I say I can hear!”

“And it’s all right?  I’m awfully sorry!”

“Oh, certainly!”

“All right.  These fellows are making such a racket I can’t hear you.  See you to-morrow!”

Susan hung up the receiver.  She sat quite still in the darkness for awhile, staring straight ahead of her.  When she went into the dining-room she was very sober.  Mr. Oliver was there; he had taken one of his men to a hospital, with a burned arm, too late in the afternoon to make a return to the foundry worth while.

“Harkee, Susan wench!” said he, “do ’ee smell asparagus?”

“Aye.  It’ll be asparagus, Gaffer,” said Susan dispiritedly, dropping into her chair.

“And I nearly got my dinner out to-night!” Billy said, with a shudder.  “Say, listen, Susan, can you come over to the Carrolls, Sunday?  Going to be a bully walk!”

“I don’t know, Billy,” she said quietly.

“Well, listen what we’re all going to do, some Thursday.  We’re going to the theater, and then dawdle over supper at some cheap place, you know, and then go down on the docks, at about three, to see the fishing fleet come in?  Are you on?  It’s great.  They pile the fish up to their waists, you know—­”

“That sounds lovely!” said Susan, eying him scornfully.  “I see Jo and Anna Carroll enjoying that!”

“Lord, what a grouch you’ve got!” Billy said, with a sort of awed admiration.

Susan began to mold the damp salt in an open glass salt-cellar with the handle of a fork.  Her eyes blurred with sudden tears.