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 find you ... but I should have come back this evening, no matter what happened."
"No matter what?"
She nodded, and met his gaze resolutely.
"No; but really--"
"Really, I can't leave the children till Nat and Grace come back. I promised I wouldn't."
"Yes; but you didn't know then .... Why on earth can't their nurse look after them?"
"There isn't any nurse but me."
"Good Lord!"
"But it's only for two weeks more," she pleaded. "Two weeks!
Do you know how long I've been without you!" He seized her by both wrists, and drew them against his breast. "Come with me at least for two days--Susy!" he entreated her.
"Oh," she cried, "that's the very first time you've said my name!"
"Susy, Susy, then--my Susy--Susy! And you've only said mine once, you know."
"Nick!" she sighed, at peace, as if the one syllable were a magic seed that hung out great branches to envelop them.
"Well, then, Susy, be reasonable. Come!"
"Reasonable--oh, reasonable!" she sobbed through laughter.
"Unreasonable, then! That's even better."
She freed herself, and drew back gently. "Nick, I swore I wouldn't leave them; and I can't. It's not only my promise to their mother--it's what they've been to me themselves. You don't, know ... You can't imagine the things they've taught me.
They're awfully naughty at times, because they're so clever; but when they're good they're the wisest people I know." She paused, and a sudden inspiration illuminated her. "But why shouldn't we take them with us?" she exclaimed.
Her husband's arms fell away from her, and he stood dumfounded.
"Take them with us?"
"Why not?"
"All five of them?"
"Of course--I couldn't possibly separate them. And Junie and Nat will help us to look after the young ones."
"Help us!" he groaned.
"Oh, you'll see; they won't bother you. Just leave it to me;I'll manage--" The word stopped her short, and an agony of crimson suffused her from brow to throat. Their eyes met; and without a word he stooped and laid his lips gently on the stain of red on her neck.
"Nick," she breathed, her hands in his.
"But those children--"
Instead of answering, she questioned: "Where are we going?"
His face lit up.
"Anywhere, dearest, that you choose."
"Well--I choose Fontainebleau!" she exulted.
"So do I! But we can't take all those children to an hotel at Fontainebleau, can we?" he questioned weakly. "You see, dear, there's the mere expense of it--"
