"Yes: that Grace Fulmer says you can't separate two people who've been through a lot of things—"
"Ah, been through them together—it's not the things, you see, it's the togetherness," she interrupted.
"The togetherness—that's it!" He seized on the word as if it had just been coined to express their case, and his mind could rest in it without farther labour.
The door-bell rang, and they started. Through the window they saw the taxi-driver gesticulating enquiries as to the fate of the luggage.
"He wants to know if he's to leave it here," Susy laughed.
"No—no! You're to come with me," her husband declared.
"Come with you?" She laughed again at the absurdity of the suggestion.
"Of course: this very instant. What did you suppose? That I was going away without you? Run up and pack your things," he commanded.
"My things? My things? But I can't leave the children!"
He stared, between indignation and amusement. "Can't leave the children? Nonsense! Why, you said yourself you were going to follow me to Fontainebleau—"
She reddened again, this time a little painfully "I didn't know what I was doing. . . . I had to
