“Oh do look!” cried Flora.
“Good Lord! The fellow thought we’d decided to stop here for good!”
“It’s really nice enough to ‘stop at’ for good, isn’t it?” asked Flora, laughing a little, but showing by her tone, as well as by a kind of wishing look in her eyes that she honestly meant it.
III
They stood humorously staring down at his things on the doorstep.
“Yes,” he agreed with a sigh, “it is nice. Lord, what wouldn’t I give if there was nothing in the world left to do but just settle down for good!”
Her brows were drawn quite earnestly. “How often lately I’ve thought that too, though of course it’s hardly more than a ‘snatch’ of impractical dreaming—isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” he admitted, almost reluctantly. “It’s only once in a while when you bump up against a place like this, with roses climbing all over everything, and then—those bags at the door.... Lord, doesn’t one get tired, sometimes, of everlastingly hustling?”
“And yet,” she reminded him with a smile, “it’s the very thing we have to do, isn’t it—both of us?”