“You know, Stacey,” Julie was saying, “I’m over thirty, but every time I see any one off on the train I feel thirteen. I feel a positively aching desire to go too.”
“Come on along,” he returned. “Nobody I’d like better to have with me.”
“That’s nice of you, Stacey,” she said gratefully. “I would. I’d come just this way, without a thing, if it weren’t for Junior—he’s having whooping-cough. I’ve always wanted to do something impetuous like that.”
“Have you now?” asked Stacey, mildly surprised.
But Julie, who was sitting next the window of her brother’s section, suddenly gasped and burst into laughter. “Oh, Jimmy, Stacey, please, please, help me stop!” she cried, in a smothered voice, pressing her handkerchief against her mouth. “Oh, she mustn’t see me in this state!”
“Who mustn’t?” demanded her husband.
“I-Irene Loeffler. She—she’s come to see Stacey off,” Julie stammered weakly. “She’ll be in the car in a moment. Oh, dear!”
Jimmy laughed, too, and Julie made a tremendous effort at self-control, as Irene strode briskly down the car and paused beside them. She held a book in her hand.
“Hello!” she said abruptly. “Who’s going away?”
“I am,” and “he is,” returned Stacey and Jimmy, who had risen politely.