He swung her down, and they went slowly up the walk. “Somehow,” said Anthony Robeson, looking up at the house, lying as if asleep in the September night, “when I thought of taking you to that little public inn, and then remembered that we might have this instead—We can go on with our wedding journey to-morrow, dear-but—to-night——”
He led her silently upon the porch. He found the key, where in jest he had bade his best man put it, and unlocked the door and threw it open.
He stepped first upon the threshold, and, turning, held out his arms.
“Come,” he said, smiling in the darkness.
XI.—A Bachelor at Dinner
“Hallo there—Anthony Robeson—don’t be in such a hurry you can’t notice a fellow.”
The big figure rushing through the snow paused, wheeled, and thrust out a hand of hearty greeting. “That you, Carey? Hat over your eyes like a train robber—electric lights all behind you—and you expect me to smile at you as I go by! How are you? How’s Judith?”
“Infernally lonely—I mean I am—Judith’s off on a visit to her mother. Say, Tony—take me home with you—will you? I want some decent things to eat, so I’m holding you up on purpose.”
“Good—come on. Train goes in a few minutes. Juliet will be delighted.”
The two hurried on together into the station from which the suburban trains were constantly leaving. As they entered they encountered a mutual friend, at whom both flung themselves enthusiastically with alternate greetings: