"It's only three blocks. Let's walk."
At the corner entrance of Grand Central, Charles darted ahead, with a hasty, "Meet you at the clock. You find Mother Spencer and the kids."
Catherine drew a long breath and looked up at Bill.
"South America," she said. "Mountains. And you are really keen about it?"
"It sounds good, don't you think?" He pushed open the heavy door for her. "Too bad we can't have dinner on some mountain peak." He smiled down at her. "What would they give us? Hot tamales, or are those Mexican?"
"South America—and Buxton," said Catherine.
"There is Spencer." Bill took her arm and swung her out of the path of a laden porter. "And the others."
"I hope it will be wonderful, Bill. And I'm not done for, not yet." Catherine could see the children, Letty with round eyes and her doll hugged under one arm, Marian jiggling on her toes with delight.
"I hope that you——" What he would have said, Catherine did not know, for Marian had seen them and hurled herself upon her mother with a burst of staccato excitement. But Catherine had met, for a clear instant, in a lifting of Bill's somber impersonality, a kind of dogged, sympathetic challenge.
"Oh, Mother!" Spencer had his fingers around her arm. "I began to think you weren't coming!"