Roma found Mr. Merritt waiting for her at the depot.
“Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear. I have a carriage waiting, and your rooms at the Wesleyan Flats are engaged. Not your old rooms, because Mrs. Brown and myself thought the associations connected with them were, perhaps, too sad; but rooms on the first floor front. There is hardly anybody there at this season, so you may really have your choice of apartments, if you should not like those that have been made ready for you,” said Mr. Merritt, after the first greetings were over and as he led her out on the sidewalk, where a hack was waiting to receive them.
“You were very kind to take so much trouble on my account. I thank you very much,” said Roma as he handed her into the carriage.
“Oh, now, don’t hurt my feelings,” said the lawyer with a laugh, as he paused at the carriage before following her. “But tell me—how about your baggage?”
“Oh, I have only a trunk. I gave the check and address to an expressman on the train, and the trunk will be delivered to-morrow morning. It is too late to-night, you know.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Merritt, and he gave the order to the coachman, “Wesleyan Flats,” and got in and seated himself beside her.
They bowled along Pennsylvania Avenue to Fourteenth Street, and up that street to the northern terminus, and then turned west, and drove until they reached the new, tall, red-brick building named after the great Methodist.
When the hack drew up before the door Roma noticed that lights were burning only in the hall and in the first floor front. She went up the steps and rang the bell while her old friend was taking out her bag and wraps and telling the coachman to wait for him.
Mrs. Brown, the janitress, opened the door herself.
“Oh, Miss Fronde! I am so glad to see you back again,” she said.