"Walter," she said, "in three weeks now I'm going to leave Paris—for Switzerland."
"It doesn't begin to get hot here till the end of June."
"Well, I'm not going in search of coolness. Quiet is what I want. I've got to settle down to work—a novel. I must get away from this turmoil of a city and its disturbances."
"Am I one of the disturbances?" he asked after a moment's thought.
"Yes."
"It'll be very lonely for me when you go."
"Let's have a cigarette," she said.
It was not till it had almost burnt out that either of them spoke. She broke the silence.
"Yes. I will be lonely too. But it looks to me like my only salvation." She stopped to press out the spark of her cigarette on the sole of her slipper. "I'm not a success as a light-minded woman, Walter. I'm no good at dancing a clog. I rather think you saved my life. I've been leaning on you more than you have known, I guess. I've caught my breath—thanks to you."
He put out his hand in protest:—