Then Meta returned to the room, and with the manner of beaming surprise which never left her--except on the rare occasions when she simply burst into tears--she announced that there was a policeman in the hall, come after Mr. Rossiter. At least, this was what she seemed to say; but there was enough doubt about it to keep the two mothers fairly calm, while Letitia ran out of the room to find out the truth "Do you suppose he's met with some horrible accident?" Mrs. Rossiter asked tremulously. "More likely to have parked his car somewhere he ought not to have," answered Mrs. Lewis; but Letitia, knowing her well, saw that her secret thought was darker than her words. All three women remained silent after this, listening for some sound from the hall, until Letitia came back. She was holding herself very straight and her face was white. She came straight to the table and said in a low firm voice, "There is some mistake, of course; but this man has come to arrest Roger." "To arrest him!" cried his mother. "For what?" "For murder," answered Letitia simply. It is only men who break news with slow agony to women--women are more direct in dealing with each other. Mrs. Rossiter gave a little cry, and then all four were silent, and in the pause Meta came in from the pantry and, deceived, by the quietness, began to clear the side table. When they were in the sitting room, with the door shut, Letitia told them as much of the story as she had been able to get from the policeman. According to his account, Roger had been not in Albany the night before but in Paterson--yes, he did sometimes go there for the company; but he never stayed there overnight. He had gone to a cheap dance hall--no, not at all like Roger, though he did love dancing--and afterward had gone to supper with a man and woman. She was a concert hall singer, or something of the kind. There had been a row. The man had first gone away in a fury and then put his pride in his pocket and had come back--had drunk a cup of coffee of Roger's brewing--and had dropped dead. The woman had confessed-- "It obviously isn't true," said Nan, and somehow her voice seemed to ring out too loudly. "Of course not," answered three voices in varying tones; and none of them had the trumpet ring of complete conviction. Nan stared from one to the other, and saw that each was busy with a plan to save him. Well, that perhaps was love--to be more concerned with the dear one's physical safety than with his moral integrity. When the first shock was over, when they had had time to think, they would see as clearly as she did that the whole thing was utterly impossible.