For the next hour or so
she alternates between fits of exaltation, during which she looks
forward to going out, and moments of despondency, when a sense of
foreboding falls upon her. At dinner she persuades some other woman
to go with her; the other woman, once persuaded, is enthusiastic
about going, until she recollects that she cannot. The first woman,
however, convinces her that she can.
"Yes," replies the second woman, "but then, how about you, dear?
You are forgetting the Joneses."
"So I was," answers the first woman, completely non-plussed. "How
very awkward, and I can't go on Wednesday. I shall have to leave it
till Thursday, now."
"But _I_ can't go Thursday," says the second woman.
"Well, you go without me, dear," says the first woman, in the tone
of one who is sacrificing a life's ambition.
"Oh no, dear, I should not think of it," nobly exclaims the second
woman. "We will wait and go together, Friday!"
"I'll tell you what we'll do," says the first woman. "We will start
early" (this is an inspiration), "and be back before the Joneses
arrive."
They agree to sleep together; there is a lurking suspicion in both
their minds that this may be their last sleep on earth.
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