He had shut the door before she could answer, and she heard him laugh as he ran, two at a time, down the shallow steps. She went to the window and watched till his strong figure had disappeared in the dusk. "He is very like his father," said Elsbeth wistfully, glancing across at the faded likeness. The dusk deepened and the stars began to twinkle. "He will never be the man his father was," cried Elsbeth, suddenly and defiantly. Her hands shook as she cleared away the remnants of the meal. She swept up the hearth, picked the coals carefully apart, and tidied the tidy room. Roger's roses still lay in a heap in the basket chair. She gathered them up and carried them into the tiny bathroom, that they might drink their fill all night. Their scent was strong and sweet. Then she lit her candle and prepared for bed. The sheets were very cold. She tried not to think of Roger's father lying in the grave she had never seen. The old, cruel longing was upon her for the sound of his voice and the sight of his face and the sweetness of his smile. She broke into painful weeping. The hours wore past. Of course he would marry Alwynne.... Alwynne would be happy ... there was comfort in that.... Roger would be kind to her.... A good boy ... a dear boy.... "And he might have been my son," cried out Elsbeth to the uncaring night. CHAPTER XL Roger never fought his battle-royal with Clare, for at the turn of Friar's Lane he met Alwynne herself, dragging wearily along the cobblestones, weighed down by paper parcels and the heavy folds of the waterproof hanging on her arm. Her hair was roughened by the wind that tugged and strained at her loosened hat; her face was drawn and shadowy; she had an air of exhaustion, of indefinable demoralisation that Roger recognised angrily. He had seen it in the first weeks of her visit to Dene. Her thoughts were evidently far away, and she would have passed him without a look if he had not stopped her. She started violently as he spoke--it was like rousing a nightmare-ridden sleeper--then her face grew radiant. "Roger!" she cried, and beamed at him like a delighted child. He possessed himself of her parcels and they walked on, Alwynne's questions and exclamations tumbling over each other. Roger at Utterbridge! Why had he come? How long was he staying? How were The Dears and how did Dene spare him? When had he arrived? Roger dropped his bomb. "Yesterday. I went to supper with Elsbeth. We had a long talk." His tone conveyed much. The brightness died out of Alwynne's face. She looked surprised and excessively annoyed. "She knew you were coming?" "She did." "Why on earth didn't she let me know? Why, she doesn't know you! She hasn't seen you since you were a kid! It's extraordinary of Elsbeth." "I wouldn't let her." "Wouldn't let her?" Alwynne looked at him blankly. "Roger--I think you're cracked." "Terse and to the point! Don't you worry. Elsbeth and I understand each other. Besides, we've been corresponding."