True to his intention, he went to the office early, virtuously inclined to work.  His uncle greeted him warmly and a long conference over business affairs followed.  To Lorry’s annoyance and discomfiture he found himself frequently inattentive.  Several important cases were pending, and in a day or two they were to go into court with a damage suit of more than ordinary consequence.  Lorry, senior, could not repress his gratification over the return of his clever, active nephew at such an opportune time.  He had felt himself unable to handle the case alone; the endurance of a young and vigorous mind was required for the coming battle in chancery.

They lunched together, the elder eager and confidential, the other respectful and—­absent-minded.  In the afternoon the junior went over the case, and renewed search for authorities and opinions, fully determined to be constant in spite of his inclination to be fickle.  Late in the day he petulantly threw aside the books, curtly informed his astonished uncle that he was not feeling well, and left the office.  Until dinner time he played billiards atrociously at his club; at dinner his mother sharply reproved him for flagrant inattentions; after dinner he smoked and wondered despondently.  To-morrow she was to sail!  If he could but see her once more!

At 7:30 his mother found him in the library, searching diligently through the volume of the encyclopedia that contained the G’s.  When she asked what he was looking for he laughed idiotically, and, in confusion, informed her that he was trying to find the name of the most important city in Indiana.  She was glancing at the books in the case when she was startled by hearing him utter an exclamation and then lean to his feet.

“Half-past seven!  I can make it!”

“What is the matter, Gren dear?”

“Oh!” he ejaculated, bringing himself up with a start.  “I forgot—­er—­yes, mother, I’ll just have time to catch the train, you know.  Will you kindly have Mary clean up this muss of books and so forth?  I’m off, you see, to New York—­for a day only, mother,—­back tomorrow!  Important business—­just remembered it, you know,—­ahem!  Good-by, mother!  Good-by!” he had kissed her and was in the hall before she fairly understood what he was talking about.  Then she ran after him, gaining the hallway in time to see him pass through the street door, his hat on the side of his head, his overcoat fluttering furiously as he shoved his arms into the sleeves.  The door slammed, and he was off to New York.

The train was ready to pull out when he reached the station, and it was only by a hard run that he caught the last platform, panting but happy. just twenty-four hours before she had left Washington, and it was right here that she had smiled and said she would expect him to come to Edelweiss.  He had had no time to secure a berth in the sleeper, but was fortunately able to get one after taking the train.  Grenfall went to sleep feeling both disappointed and disgusted.  Disappointed because of his submission to sentiment; disgusted because of the man who occupied the next section.  A man who is in love and in doubt has no patience with the prosaic wretch who can sleep so audibly.