"I don't know exactly. Perhaps only two weeks, perhaps longer."
"Good gracious!" Hilda trilled, "it doesn't seem worth while going for such a little while, does it? Two weeks! Hardly time to get there and back."
"I'm not going for the pleasure of the trip," Roger said stiffly, "and the convention won't last more than four days. But I won't have time to come up again. I'll say good-by now." It was almost a challenge, but it was the best that he could do. Followed by Hilda's stupid injunction to have a good time, he preceded Anne into the hall and she shut the door. Instantly the heavy breathing of James Mitchell filled the space between them. In silence they reached the stair-head and he began the long descent.
Would Roger really go like that, without a kind word or apology? Three steps below, Roger stopped, and looked back.
He was going away for weeks and Anne could not even come to the door with him.
"I won't write often. You'll see all the news in the papers and I'll be pretty busy."
"Oh, that's all right. And don't worry if you don't hear from me. There won't be any news."
They looked at each other.
Anne went slowly down the three stairs and kissed him, a kiss of condescending allowance for his bad temper and rudeness. Roger's lips brushed her cheek. "Good-bye. Take care of yourself."
He was gone.