“Mrs.—Huntington,” he got out somehow, taking her hand, and staring eagerly down into her face, “I heard you were home, and I hoped to find you here. I—you are—I am extremely glad——”
Half an hour later Anthony came upon his wife in the darkness of the dining-room. “Oh, you shouldn’t have left them when I was away,” she said. “Little Tony cried out and I had to go. I know Rachel doesn’t want to be left with him to-night.”
“Angels and chaperons defend us,” muttered Anthony. “I can’t stand it forever to feel a man wanting to kill me for staying by him through a meeting like this, after three years. I didn’t know but Lockwood would attempt to throw me off my own porch. Give him a chance—he hasn’t any, anyhow.”
“It’s after nine,” whispered Juliet.
“I know it. Roger’s taking a terrible risk.”
“He doesn’t know she’s here. But I thought he cared enough for us to——”
“That’s what I’ve been so sure of. He’s probably been detained by some case. He’s getting so distinguished, the minute he sets foot in town now the folks with things the matter with them begin to block his path. I hope she knows what she throws over her shoulder if she refuses him now.”
“I don’t see that she’s going to have a chance to refuse him,” mourned Juliet. “Do you think he’d ever forgive us if we let him get away without knowing she was here?”
“Lockwood found it out, somehow. Carey’s safe to tell him if he sees him—and he’s pretty sure to, at Roger’s club.”