“If I wanted to be alone,” she thought, “I’m alone enough, in all conscience.” There was a deathly chill in such security. She turned to Fulmer.
“And Grace?”
He beamed back without sign of embarrassment. “Oh, she’s here, naturally—we’re in Paris, kids and all. In a pension, where we can polish up the lingo. But I hardly ever lay eyes on her, because she’s as deep in music as I am in paint; it was as big a chance for her as for me, you see, and she’s making the most of it, fiddling and listening to the fiddlers. Well, it’s a considerable change from New Hampshire.” He looked at her dreamily, as if making an intense effort to detach himself from his dream, and situate her in the fading past. “Remember the bungalow? And Nick—ah, how’s Nick?” he brought out triumphantly.
“Oh, yes—darling Nick?” Mrs. Melrose chimed in; and Susy, her head erect, her cheeks aflame, declared with resonance: “Most awfully well—splendidly!”
“He’s not here, though?” from Fulmer.
“No. He’s off travelling—cruising.”
Mrs. Melrose’s attention was faintly roused. “With anybody interesting?”
“No; you wouldn’t know them. People we met....” She did not have to continue, for her hostess’s gaze had again strayed.
“And you’ve come for your clothes, I suppose, darling? Don’t listen to people who say that skirts are to be wider. I’ve discovered a new woman—a Genius—and she absolutely swathes you.... Her name’s my secret; but we’ll go to her together.”
Susy rose from her engulphing armchair. “Do you mind if I go up to my room? I’m rather tired—coming straight through.”