The marriage announcement in four words, flying to the gray, windy skies and heavier conscience of Chicago, never reached Ellen, for she was out of the office when it arrived. Mr. Rountree opened it and pocketed it before she returned.
So she was in suspense and excited, constantly. At one hour she felt able to do any amount of work and she wanted to work, work with her hands and head; at another she wanted never to see work again, never to scratch another line in a notebook, never type another letter, telephone another business message; she wanted, at these wild, sudden moments, to be only . . . a woman.
Lida Haige, who was Lida Rountree now or soon would be, had been only a woman and she had him. Something more was to be known about it, to be sure. Here was the Nucast order upon Mr. Rountree's desk; and this—a mere business matter, apparently—was tied to the motive in Jay's return to New York to marry Lida.
Ellen spread the sheets of the order pages before her and looked them over and over, scarcely noticing the items. It was as if the secret lay between the rows of figures, if she could read it. Mr. Rountree, watching her, asked:
"Anything wrong with those totals?"
"Not with the totals," she said.
"It is an excellent order," he commented.
