The others greeted them with the inevitable storm of humor and slight vexation: “Where the deuce do you think you've been?” “You're a fine pair, you are!” Erik and Carol looked self-conscious; failed in their effort to be witty. All the way home Carol was embarrassed. Once Cy winked at her. That Cy, the Peeping Tom of the garage-loft, should consider her a fellow-sinner——She was furious and frightened and exultant by turns, and in all her moods certain that Kennicott would read her adventuring in her face.
She came into the house awkwardly defiant.
Her husband, half asleep under the lamp, greeted her, “Well, well, have nice time?”
She could not answer. He looked at her. But his look did not sharpen. He began to wind his watch, yawning the old “Welllllll, guess it's about time to turn in.”
That was all. Yet she was not glad. She was almost disappointed.
II
Mrs. Bogart called next day. She had a hen-like, crumb-pecking, diligent appearance. Her smile was too innocent. The pecking started instantly:
“Cy says you had lots of fun at the picnic yesterday. Did you enjoy it?”
“Oh yes. I raced Cy at swimming. He beat me badly. He's so strong, isn't he!”
“Poor boy, just crazy to get into the war, too, but——This Erik Valborg was along, wa'n't he?”