"Well," said Aldo sulkily, "I wish you would not jump at a fellow. The rest is merely this: The good old prairie-chicken"—he went off into another peal of laughter, and left off again when he had finished—"she was—she was just promising to put up the money when you came along. And you know what women are. They—they hate families," said Aldo.
Nancy raised her eyes to his face without moving.
"I do not know why you look at me like that," said Aldo sulkily.
Nancy got up. "There is a train at one o'clock," she said; "we will take it."
She went upstairs; Aldo went out into the garden and played with Anne-Marie and the Condamine doll.
At twelve Nancy looked out of the window. She called Anne-Marie, who came unwillingly, dragging the doll upstairs, and followed by Aldo.
"We are ready," said Nancy, tying the white ribbons of a floppy straw hat under Anne-Marie's chin. Anne-Marie sat on the bed kicking her feet in their tan travelling-boots up and down. Aldo sat near the table, and drummed on it with his fingers.
"Who is going to pay the hotel bill?" he said.
Nancy looked up. "Have you no money?"
"I have eighty-two francs and forty centimes," said Aldo.