All the windows were in darkness; the grey front of the
house loomed forbiddingly in the faint moonlight.
"You're coming in, aren't you?" she asked, her hand tightening on his
arm.
"Rather--we'll take the edge off her tongue together." Bob rang the
bell. "Wonder if they have all gone to bed. The place looks pretty
dark."
"She's probably in the little room at the back--the one she calls her
boudoir."
"Horrible little den, full of bamboo and draperies and pampas grass--I
know," nodded Bob. "Well, either she's asleep or she thinks it's fun to
keep us on the mat. I'll try her again." He pressed the bell, and the
sound of its whirring echoed through the silent house.
CHAPTER IV
COMING HOME
The bolt grated, as if grudgingly, and slowly the door opened as far as
the limits of its chain would permit, and Mrs. Rainham's face appeared
in the aperture. She glared at them for a minute without speaking.
"So you have come home?" she said at last. The chain fell, and the door
opened. "I wonder you trouble to come home at all. May I ask where you
have been?"
"She has been with me, Mrs. Rainham," Bob said cheerfully. "May I come
in?"
Mrs. Rainham did not move. She held the door half open, blocking the
way.
"It is far too late for me to ask you in," she answered frigidly.
"Cecilia can explain her conduct, I presume."
"Oh, there's really nothing to explain," Bob answered.
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