They exchanged the quick glance called for by this statement. Nan nodded.
"I shall be leaving very soon," Lois remarked, holding her parasol at arm's length and whirling it idly.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Nan replied.
She shook the bracelet down upon her round white arm with her accustomed gesture, rested her elbow on the writing-table, and waited. She had just come in from a walk and was clad in a blue wash waist and dark skirt. She was immediately conscious of the perfections of Lois's raiment, noting its points from silk hose and modish pumps to the utmost tip of the feather on the beguiling Paris hat.
Nan's imagination was at work upon the situation: Tom Kirkwood's former wife had come to call upon her, and wished to see her alone; and Tom Kirkwood was in love with her, and she would have married him had not this lovely apparition returned to shake her resolution. In the way of people who write she began to view the encounter with unconscious detachment. She was not to remain long in doubt as to the purpose of Lois's visit.
"I am going abroad for an indefinite stay. I may return, of course, now and then, but just to pass the time of day. Montgomery will never be my home. Amzi and Phil—"
A smile, a slight movement of her head, a lifting of the hand completed the sentence.
"They are strong ties," Nan replied, smiling in return.
"I want to tell you how deeply grateful I am to you and your sister, for your kindnesses to dear Phil. In these years that I have been gone you and Rose have been"—she hesitated—"like mothers and grown-up sisters to her. The result speaks for itself. Without you those sisters of mine would have made a fool of her."
"Oh, Phil couldn't have been spoiled!" exclaimed Nan.