She hesitated. "I did," she admitted. "It was--I'm sorry, Mr. Wills. It
was an impulse. I shouldn't have done it."
"What was it, Rena?"
She shook her head. "I am sorry. It doesn't matter. But I am a bad
hostess; won't you come in?"
* * * * *
The room behind the door was long and narrow, with worn furniture and
a door that led, perhaps, to another room behind. It seemed dusty and,
hating myself as a snooping fool, I took careful note that there was a
faint aroma of tobacco. I had been quite sure that she didn't smoke,
that evening we had met.
She gestured at a chair--there only were two, both pulled up to a crude
wooden table, on which were two poured cups of coffee. "Please sit
down," she invited.
I reminded myself that it was, after all, none of my business if she
chose to entertain friends--even friends who smoked particularly rancid
tobacco. And if they preferred not to be around when I came to the
door, why, that was their business, not mine. I said cautiously, "I
didn't mean to interrupt you."
"Interrupt me?" She saw my eyes on the cups. "Oh--oh, no, Mr. Wills.
That other cup is for you, you see. I poured it when Luisa told me
you were at the gate. It isn't very good, I'm afraid," she said
apologetically.
I made an effort to sip the coffee; it was terrible. I set it down.
"Rena, I just found out about your policies. Believe me, I'm sorry. I
hadn't known about it, when we had dinner together; I would have--Well,
I don't know what I would have done. There isn't much I can do,
truthfully; I don't want you thinking I have any great power. But I
wish I had known--I might not have made you cry, at any rate."