She clapped her hands. “For you. I’ll tell you later.”
She looked away as if she feared she had encouraged him too much. Again the silence settled down.
He watched her: the slope of her throat, the wistful drooping of her face, the folded patience of her hands.
“When does a honeymoon like ours commence?” he whispered.
She shrugged her shoulders and became interested in the traffic.
“Well, then if you won’t tell me that, answer me this question. How long does it last?”
She pursed her mouth and began to do a sum on her fingers. When she had counted up to ten, she peeped at him from under her broad-brimmed hat. “Until it ends.” Then, patting his hand quickly, “But it’s only just started. Don’t let’s think about the end—— Here, this hotel will do. Dig the cocher in the back. I’ll sit in the fiacre till you return; then there’ll be no explanations.”
He took the first room that was offered him, and regained his place beside her. All the time he had been gone, he had been haunted by the dread that she might drive off without him.
“What next?”
She smiled. “The old New York question. Anywhere—— I don’t care.” She slipped her arm into his and then withdrew it. “It is fun to be alone with you.”