Beverley's colour had been bright, but she turned pale as Roger flung at
her his scolding words. Seeing the letter in her husband's hand the
blood streamed back to her cheeks. If she could possibly have known and
recognized Heron's writing, it might have seemed that the sight of it
had struck her with fear. But no such far-fetched thought occurred to
her husband.

"I--I'm sorry!" she said hastily. "I heard your voice--I supposed
someone was with you----"

Roger forgot that he had spoken aloud. In silence he let the girl cross
the floor and sit down in the easy chair she called "hers." She dropped
into it as if her knees had given way, and looked at Roger. When he did
not speak, she could bear the suspense no longer.

"You--you're reading a letter--I interrupted you?"

"The letter's of no importance," said Roger, throwing it upon the desk.
"It's only from John Heron to tell me that he and his wife won't be able
to come and see us at Newport. One would suppose by his tone that he was
offended. Probably Mrs. Heron expected you to gush over the wedding
present, and has put him up to snubbing me because you didn't."

"You asked the Herons to visit us? I--didn't know----"

"I did ask them," Roger cut her short. "I heard they were coming East."

"Oh, Roger, I couldn't have met them! If they'd accepted I should have
had to be ill, or--or go away!" Beverley exclaimed on one of her
impulses, which instantly she appeared to regret. "I'm glad you don't
like Mr. Heron's letter, because--you'll never ask them again! I haven't
done anything to annoy you, have I?"

"You know best whether you have or not."

"What do you mean?"

"Is it necessary to ask? I came home intending not to question you. But
I must make one comment: you're surprised that I invite a friend to
visit us without consulting you. That seems inconsistent with what
you've done. I've read the evening paper, and----"

"Oh, Roger! It's in the paper ... about that poor child and me?"

"Naturally! You and I aren't nonentities."

"You don't think I did wrong?"

"Wrong's a big word. You've done something foolish, and inconsiderate to
me."

"What harm can the child do to you?"

"That depends upon what sort of 'child' she is! Perhaps you can give me
a better account of her than the _Evening Star_ gives!"

"I can't give you any," said Beverley, in a trembling voice, "except
that she was the most pitiful thing I ever saw ... so young and
desperate, lying in poo