"Couldn't make it tomorrow, dearie," he regretted to have to confess to that bright, hopeful, appealing face. "I've got something on the fire that's liable to boil over. But you go," insisted George generously. "Make up a party. Make a day of it. Better, make two or three days of it. Go on up to Huron or over to see your mother at Birch Cottage. It will do you good to get on the water for a few days. Do the Gray Gull and her crew good, too."
Fay knew generosity when she encountered it. This was perfectly noble of George, and she forgave him her first disappointment, her face brightening by a few additional beams in consequence.
"That would be a lovely plan, wouldn't it?" she agreed instantly. "Only there isn't time, because we have to be back for the Newcomb dinner on Friday night."
"Easy enough," insisted George. "Start tomorrow. Start at ten o'clock, and you can get round all right for Friday. Use the telephone—catch-as-catch-can. In half an hour you can make up a party."
Within ten seconds Fay was on her way to the telephone, and George Judson was experiencing another sickening hollow feeling in his breast. To think that she was actually willing to go away with his affairs at such a crisis. With man-like unreasonableness he again failed to take account
