“Oh, come!” she smiled at him; “it hasn't been so bad, has it?”
“Better than I had expected,” he conceded. “But it will soon be April, and I remember the leaves in the Luxembourg for so many Aprils back.”
She came and put her arm through his. “Do you want to go, dear?”
“Oh, hang it all, Mary, you don't suppose I want to leave you?” he answered brusquely, releasing his arm. “I want my own place, that's all.”
She had, in her quieter way, become just as homesick for England, though sharing none of his dislike of her adopted land.
“Well, shall we both go?” she suggested.
He laughed shortly. “Don't be absurd, dearest—what would your doctor say to such a notion? No, we've got to stick it out,” and he ruffled his hair impatiently.
With a suppressed sigh Mary changed the subject. “By the by, I want you to meet Dr. Hillyard; I have asked her to tea this afternoon.”
“Do you honestly mean it when you say she is not an elderly ironsides with spectacles?”
“I honestly assure you she is young and pretty. Moreover, I forbid you to talk like an anti-suffragist,” she laughed.