And with the best man, who looked weary and spent,
Roger went slowly back up the steps. It was an effort now to talk. Thank
Heaven these people soon were gone. Last of all went the ponderous aunt of
the groom. How the taxi groaned as he helped her inside and started her off
to Bridgeport. Back in his study he found his cigars and smoked one
dismally with Bruce. Bruce was a decent sort of chap. He knew when to be
silent.
"Well," he spoke finally, rising, "I guess I'll have to get back to the
office." He smiled a little and put his hand on Roger's weary shoulder.
"We're glad it's over--eh?" he asked.
"Bruce," said Roger heavily, "you've got a girl of your own growing up.
Don't let her grow to feel you're old. Live on with her. She'll need you."
His massive blunt face darkened. "The world's so damnably new," he
muttered, "so choked up with fool ideas." Bruce still smiled
affectionately.
"Go up and see Edith," he said, "and forget 'em. She never lets one into
the flat. She said you were to be sure to come and tell her about the
wedding."
"All right, I'll go," said Roger. He hunted about for his hat and coat.
What a devilish mess they had made of the house. A half hour later he was
with Edith; but there, despite his efforts to answer all her questions, he
grew heavier and heavier, till at last he barely spoke. He sat watching
Edith's baby.
"Did you talk to Laura?" he heard her ask.
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