Bob was a little surprised.
“Oh, then Esther has told you about it?” he asked.
“Um-hum. She told me.”
“What do you think of the idea, sir? Of my going there to study, I mean?”
“Think it is just what you should do. If you’ve made up your mind to paint for a living then the better painter you learn to be the better living you’ll make—if you can live at all at that job.... Oh, yes, yes!” he added, before either of the pair could reply. “I suppose likely you think you can. And you may be right. I don’t know about such things.”
The moment the hall door had closed behind him Bob turned to Esther and seized her hands.
“Only a few more weeks,” he announced, triumphantly. “In less than a month you and I will be sauntering down the Champs Elysées or the ‘Boul Mich’ or somewhere. I have engaged my passage. I am going on the Lavornia. She sails from New York just eight days after your ship leaves. We shan’t be separated long, shall we?”
She withdrew her hands from his and shook her head.
“Bob,” she said, “I have dreaded seeing you to-night. I have something to tell you that you won’t like at all. I don’t like it either, but it can’t be helped. All our plans are changed. I am not going to Paris.”
He stared. “Not going to Paris?” he repeated. “Where are you going?”