Anne tried to laugh. "This morning."
"Don't you think you'd better go right straight home, dear?" she whispered as if Anne had communicated Roger's sudden death.
"Why? There's nothing to do."
"N-o. I don't suppose there is. But—what happened, with the baby and everything?"
"Nothing special. They don't agree. It's been coming on for some months. Roger doesn't feel that Mr. Wainwright is sincere and he can't work with him."
"Well, I must say——"
"And I wouldn't have him stay a minute when he feels like that."
"No, dear, I don't suppose you would," Hilda hastily conciliated Anne's "condition." "But it does seem too bad that his conscience got worked up just at this time. A few months more——"
"This is the best possible time," Anne said decidedly. "There's no extra expense now."
"No. But when a woman's carrying, she likes to feel a good safe road ahead. It's nature, I suppose, like birds building nests and all that. If papa had suddenly given up his job when I was in your condition, like as not you would have been an idiot. I should have worried myself sick. But you always were a cool little customer."