“I might have told you,” she said, “if you had wanted to know.” She felt her knees sagging with fatigue, and drooped against the door-frame.
“Come and sit in the car, and talk to me for a minute,” he suggested. “Do you good, before you climb the stairs.”
He opened the car door for her ingratiatingly, but she shook her head.
“I’ve done unconventional things enough for one evening,” she said. “Unlock the door for me. Hitty’ll be waiting up to take care of me.”
“What’s that queer thing you’re wearing?” 68 he asked her, as he held the door for her to pass through, “I never remember seeing you wear that before.”
Nancy looked down wonderingly at the folds of the Inverness still swinging from her shoulders. She had been subconsciously aware of the grateful warmth in which she was encased ever since she snuggled comfortably into the depths of the taxi-cab into which Collier Pratt had tucked her.
“No, I never have worn it before,” she said, answering Dick’s question.