Roger’s eyes shifted. A faint color crept into his cheeks.
“She will think you’re a sadly negligent friend. She’s at the Wolcott. If you are in town——”
“Unfortunately, I’ll not be,” interrupted Roger curtly. “I’ll have to trust to you to make my apologies.”
Mrs. Richmond once more looked defeated. “Don’t forget us,” she pleaded.
“Thank you,” said Roger embarrassed.
“Good-by.”
Roger bowed. The machine got under way and disappeared in a cloud of dust while he went slowly and moodily back to the veranda to take up his book, but not to read it.
As Mrs. Richmond’s auto swung into the terrace before the main entrance to Red Hill Richmond’s auto departed, having just set him down upon the stone esplanade. He opened the door of the car for his wife. “Well?” said he sharply.
“He can’t—that is, won’t—come.”
“I thought so.”