“I thought so, and as I hate a fuss, I just dropped home without a word. Do I look ten years older? I feel twenty. No place like home! your own home! I hope we shall all have our own homes in heaven—country ones, too. I should tire awfully of that great multitude on the golden streets. Oh, Yanna, how good it is to see you! Where is Harry?”
“In New York. He has to go there very often now. He says it is business.”
“It is business, undoubtedly. Here is the cup of chocolate I ordered. Sit down and talk to me, while I drink it. Then I will go to sleep, and you can take off your driving gear.”
But she found it impossible to sleep; she had so much to tell, and so much to show. And suddenly she raised herself from an open trunk, and holding out a case of Apostle spoons, said, “These are a present from Rose. When did you hear from her?”
“She has written very seldom to me lately. But I thought perhaps she had been influenced by her mother. That would be quite natural. Did you see her?”
“Yes.”
The reply had in it a touch of anger. Adriana looked up, but was silent.
“I saw her—in Edinburgh.”
“Is she happy?”