Nan turned to her passionately.
"Don't you see what he means? Don't you see? . . . It's because I didn't write to him yesterday from here. He doesn't believe the note I left behind—he doesn't believe I'm with you!"
"But, my dear, where else should you be?" protested Penelope. "And why shouldn't he believe it?"
Nan shrugged her shoulders.
"I told you we'd had a row. It—it was rather a big one. He probably thinks I've run away and married—oh, well"—she laughed mirthlessly—"anyone!"
"Nan!"
"That's what's happened"—nodding. "It was really . . . quite a big row." She paused, then continued, indignantly:
"As if I'd have tried to deceive him over it—writing that I was going to you when I wasn't! Roger's a fool! He ought to have known me better. I've never yet been coward enough to lie about anything I wanted to do."
"But, my dear"—Penelope was openly distressed—"we must send him a wire at once. I'd no idea you'd quarrelled—like that! He'll be out of his mind with anxiety."
"He deserves to be"—in a hard voice—"for distrusting me. No, Penny"—as Penelope drew a form towards her preparatory to inditing a reassuring telegram. "I won't have a wire sent to him. D'you hear? I won't have it!" Her foot beat excitedly on the floor.