“All right,” said Baron, leading the way toward the stairs. He had an idea that words had better be used sparingly.
But at the door the departing guest turned for a last look, and instead of the masks of affable politeness she expected to behold there was instead a look of unmistakable regret on every face. Regret which amounted to actual grief, so far as Mrs. Baron and Flora were concerned.
Surely they weren’t glad to see her go! There must be a mistake....
She clasped her hands and leaned forward in an attitude of great earnestness. “You know how I love you!” she cried. Her voice almost failed her.
Mrs. Baron came forward, all her resentment gone. “Indeed, we do,” she declared. “There, you’re not to go away feeling badly. I’m very sorry you feel that you ought to go. And we’ll be very anxious to have you come back as soon as you possibly can.”
“Oh, thank you so much!” She lifted impulsive arms to Mrs. Baron’s neck and hugged her. She looked back at the others, and they could see that there was happiness in her eyes as well as tears.
Then she was gone, in Baron’s wake. The sound of her voice, anxiously questioning, drifted up the stairs until it was suddenly quieted by the closing of the front door.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to go out on a street-car,” said Baron. “When you want to come back, the Thornburgs will probably send you in an automobile.”
She clasped her hands. “Fine!” said she.
Baron frowned—a fact which she remarked. “I wasn’t thinking about the automobile,” she hastened to assure him.