"Oh, cut it," said Dick, whose gods were subject to change.
"Cut it by all means. But there is a thing or two I'd like your vote on. Your mother now: what's your impression of her plans about staying along here? Think she's game to tough it out as long as I do?"
"She'll stay as long as Nan does." Dick was frowning into the fire, and Raven doubted whether one of his admonitory words had sunk in. "I had an idea I could go back to town to-morrow morning and wire her I'd broken my leg or something. But Nan's got to go with me."
"Nan will do as she pleases," said Raven. He rose from his chair disgusted with young love so unpicturesque and cub-like. "Turn off the lights, will you, when you go?" And he went off to bed.
But in the morning, when he came down, Dick met him at the foot of the stairs. It was a changed Dick. His lip was trembling. Raven concerned, yet unable to deny himself a flippant inward comment, thought the boy looked as if he'd been saying his prayers.
"She's gone, Jack," said Dick.
In stress of intimacy, he often dropped the prefatory title.
"Gone?" Raven's mind flew to Tira. "Where?"
"Back to Boston. Walked to the station. Took the milk train. Charlotte says she simply walked out and said she wasn't coming back."
"Your mother or—you don't mean Nan?"