Nan shuddered inwardly. Of course she knew one always did ultimately meet one's future mother-in-law, but the prompt and dutiful way in which Roger brought out his suggestion seemed like a sentence culled from some Early Victorian book. Certainly it was altogether alien to Nan's ultra-modern, semi-Bohemian notions.
"Suppose you come to lunch to-morrow? I should like you to meet her as soon as possible."
There was something just the least bit didactic in the latter part of the sentence, a hint of the proprietary note. Nan recoiled from it instinctively.
"No, not to-morrow," she exclaimed hastily. "I'm going over to see Aunt Eliza—Mrs. McBain, you know—and I can't put it off. I haven't been near her for a fortnight, and she'll he awfully offended if I don't go."
"Then it must be Tuesday," said Roger, with an air of making a concession.
Nan felt that nothing could save her from Tuesday, and agreed meekly. At the same moment, to her unspeakable relief, Kitty looked into the room to enquire gaily:
"Are you two still saying good-bye?"
Trenby rose reluctantly.
"No. We were just making arrangements about Nan's coming to the Hall to meet my mother. We've fixed it all up, so I must be off now."
It was with a curious sense of freedom regained that Nan watched the lights of Roger's car speed down the drive.