Mrs. Lewis glanced at her. It was not like a girl to be so obstinate.
Of course, poor Letty wanted her husband to herself after a shock like
this.
"Roger will keep," she said firmly.
She went into the hall and picked up her scarf from the companion chair
to that on which the policeman had sat. As she did so her eye fell
upon a bag standing as if ready for a journey.
"Is that your bag, Nan?" she asked, trying to remember if the plan had
ever been that Nan was to spend the night.
"No," said Letitia in a quick sharp voice; "that's something of mine."
And then, without the least warning, the front door opened and Roger
himself walked in--walked in without any idea that he had been a
murderer, arrested, extradited, defended and freed since he had last
seen his own house.
He was just as Nan knew he would be. She didn't care anything about
his mere beauty. It was that fine firm mouth of his--just like the
photograph. How could anyone imagine that a man with a mouth like that--
He greeted his wife, his mother, his mother-in-law casually, and came
straight to Nan.
"So this is Nan--at last," he said, and he stooped and kissed her cheek.
Well, Nan said to herself, she had a right to that; but she saw Letty's
brow contract; and Mrs. Lewis, who perhaps saw it, too, hurried her
toward the car. Roger protested.
"But you're not taking Nan! I came home early especially to see her. I
did not even go back to the office for fear of being detained." But, of
course, his lonely protest accomplished nothing, and as he opened the
front door for the three departing women, he asked, "When am I to see
you, Nan?"
Nan looked up at him very sweetly and said "Never." She said it
lightly, but she knew it was the bitter truth. She knew Letitia.
Letitia would never permit a second meeting.
Just as she got into the car she heard him call, "Oh, isn't this your
bag?" and she heard Letty answer:
"No, it's mine. It represents one of Nan's abandoned ideas."