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.