CHAPTER XVI

But that winter there was more in the house than Deborah's big family.
Though at times Roger felt it surging in with its crude, immense vitality,
there were other times when it was not so, and the lives of his other two
daughters attracted his attention, for both were back again in town.

Laura and her husband had returned from abroad in October, and in a small
but expensive apartment in a huge new building facing on Park Avenue they
had gaily started the career of their own little family, or "menage," as
Laura called it. This word had stuck in Roger's mind, for he had a
suspicion that a "menage" was no place for babies. Grimly, when he went
there first to be shown the new home by its mistress, he looked about him
for a room which might be made a nursery. But no such room was in evidence.
"We decided to have no guest room," he heard Laura say to Deborah. And
glancing at his daughter then, sleek and smiling and demure, in her
tea-gown fresh from Paris, Roger darkly told himself that a child would be
an unwelcome guest. The whole place was as compact and sparkling as a jewel
box. The bed chamber was luxurious, with a gorgeous bath adjoining and a
dressing-room for Harold.

"And look at this love of a closet!" said Laura to Deborah eagerly. "Isn't
it simply enormous?" As Deborah looked, her father did, too, and his eye
was met by an array of shimmering apparel which made him draw back almost
with a start.

They found Harold in the pantry. Their Jap, it appeared, was a marvellous
cook and did the catering as well, so that Laura rarely troubled herself
to order so much as a single meal. But her husband had for many years been
famous for his cocktails, and although the Jap did everything else Hal had
kept this in his own hands.

"I thought this much of the house-keeping ought to remain in the family,"
he said.

Roger did not like this joke. But later, when he had imbibed the delicious
concoction Harold had made, and had eaten the dinner created by that
Japanese artist of theirs, his irritation subsided.

"They barely know we're here," he thought. "They're both in love up to
their ears."

Despite their genial attempts to be hospitable and friendly, time and again
he saw their glances meet in an intimate gleaming manner which made him
rather uncomfortable. But where was the harm, he asked himself. They were
married all right, weren't they? Still somehow--somehow--no, by George, he
didn't like it,