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Indeed, she knew that she had given it a new
thrill and so had won its enthusiastic approval. She was afraid of
what Clayton would think.
She was absurdly quiet and virtuous all the next day, gathered out
her stockings and mended them; began a personal expenditure account
for the New-year, heading it carefully with "darning silk, 50 cents";
wrote a long letter to Chris, and - listened for the telephone. If
only he would call her, so she could explain. Still, what could she
explain? She had done it. It was water over the dam - and it is
no fault of Audrey's that she would probably have spelled it "damn."
By noon she was fairly abject. She did not analyze her own anxiety,
or why the recollection of her escapade, which would a short time
before have filled her with a sort of unholy joy, now turned her
sick and trembling.
Then, in the middle of the afternoon, Clay called her up. She gasped
a little when she heard his voice.
"I wanted to tell you, Audrey," he said, "that we can probably use
the girl you spoke about, rather soon.


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