tioned weakly. "You see, dear, there's the mere expense of it—"
Her eyes were already travelling far ahead of him. "The expense won't amount to much. I've just remembered that Angèle, the bonne, has a sister who is cook there in a nice old-fashioned pension which must be almost empty at this time of year. I'm sure I can ma—arrange easily," she hurried on, nearly tripping again over the fatal word. "And just think of the treat it will be to them! This is Friday, and I can get them let off from their afternoon classes, and keep them in the country till Monday. Poor darlings, they haven't been out of Paris for months! And I daresay the change will cure Geordie's cough—Geordie's the youngest," she explained, surprised to find herself, even in the rapture of reunion, so absorbed in the welfare of the Fulmers.
She was conscious that her husband was surprised also; but instead of prolonging the argument he simply questioned: "Was Geordie the chap you had in your arms when you opened the front door the night before last?"
She echoed: "I opened the front door the night before last?"
"To a boy with a parcel."
"Oh," she sobbed, "you were there? You were watching?"
He held her to him, and the currents flowed between them warm and full as on the night of their moon over Como.
