“Yes,” Lindsay answered absently, “we’ve got to have it.”
“I’m glad we found things so slowly,” Susannah dreamily. “It adds to the wonder and magic of it all. It makes the dream last longer. It keeps our romance always at the boiling point.”
She put one arm about her husband’s neck and kissed him. Lindsay turned; kissed her.
“At least we have the major pieces back,” Susannah said contentedly. “And little Lutetia Murray Lindsay will grow up in almost the same surroundings that Susannah Ayer enjoyed. Oh—today—when I carried her over to the wall of the nursery, she noticed the Weejubs; she actually put her hand out to touch them.”
“Oh, there’s something here for you—from Rome—just came in the mail,” Lindsay exclaimed. “It’s addressed to Susannah Delano too.”
“From Rome!” Susannah ejaculated. “Susannah Delano!” She cut the strings of the package. Under the wrappings appeared—swathed in tissue paper—a picture. A letter dropped from the envelope. Susannah seized it; turned to the signature.
“Garrison Monroe!” she ejaculated. “Oh, dear dear Uncle Garry, he’s alive after all!” She read the letter aloud, the tears welling in her eyes.
“How wonderful!” she commented when she finished. “You see, he’s apparently specialized in tomb-sculpture.”
She pulled the tissue paper from the picture. Their heads met, examining it.