"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"Do?" She raised her eyebrows. "I am going, of course."
"Where?"
She smiled.
"Sais pas. Let go my hands, please; you hurt me—Beau-papa!"
He flung away from her and stood by the window, staring with blinded eyes into the street.
"This is really no good, you know," she went on in a conversational tone; "we quarrel and squabble and are no earthly use to each other—the whole position is bad. I think I will tell Théo, and go."
He did not answer, and after a pause she added: "Or marry him by special license the day after to-morrow, and make him take me—somewhere—for a few months."
"A—ah!"
She smiled at his groan.