“That’s good. I’ve heard of the Mayhews; they’ve done a lot all during the war. Then can I look you up at the Mayhews’ when I’m in Paris? I hope for service right away, of course; but Paris is close for our leave always.”
“Oh, I’ll not stay at the Mayhews’ or on Avenue Kléber! I’m to find a room with Milicent Wetherell.”
“So you’ll carry out your Latin Quarter plan! That’s better! But you’ll leave the address, anyway, at the Mayhews’?”
“Yes,” Ruth promised.
She took the opportunity to ask him many practical, matter-of-fact items which she needed to know—particularly about the examinations to be made upon arrival in France.
“My passport’s almost ruined, you see,” she explained to him.
“Why? What’s happened?”
Ruth colored. “I always carried it with me; so it got soaked in the sea the other day.”
Color came to his face too; that had happened when she went into the water to get him, of course. She would not have reminded him of it but that she knew she well might need help no less influential than his to pass the gateway to France.
“Of course,” he said. “How’s it spoiled?”