Anne tried to smile. "But you did expect me. You're not surprised a bit." Over his shoulder she was watching Rogie in hungry fear that he was not going to recognize her. If Rogie cried and shrank away——But he didn't. He was only making quite sure before he gave a gurgle of delight and began wriggling in Hilda's grasp. James Mitchell's arm dropped and Anne was beside Hilda with Rogie tight in her hold.
"Grown some, hasn't he?" James demanded as he stumbled to the chair beside the stove. "Not bad nurses, the old folks, eh?"
"He's grown an inch," Anne declared, hugging him to her. "And my gracious, he's heavy!"
"Weighs a ton when he's been on the same spot in your lap ten minutes. Only he don't often stay ten minutes in the same spot. He's a lively youngster, Anne. Got a lot more pep than you ever had at his age. He must take after——" James broke off and looked at Hilda.
"Yes, he's more like Roger," Anne finished. There was no reason to avoid Roger's name.
There was a short silence, filled by her father sipping the malted milk and her mother pouring out the tea. Then Anne said:
"Has Roger seen him often?"
Hilda and James looked at each other in a new habit of consultation.
"No, dear. Belle thought it would be just as well to wait until you could arrange things as you wanted."
"I'm sorry. There's no reason he shouldn't see him. I never intended keeping him all to myself. He's Roger's, too."