"You—You?" exclaimed the Divorcée.
"Why not? I was trained for this sort of thing. This is my chance."
"And the rest of us?"
The Doctor intervened. "See here, this is forty-eight hours or more earlier than I meant this matter to come up. I might have known the Youngster could not hold his tongue."
"I've been bursting for three days."
"Well, you've burst now, and I hope you are content. There is nothing to worry about, yet. We fellows are leaving September 1st. The roads are all clear, and it was my idea that we should all start for Paris together early next Tuesday morning. I don't know what the rest of you want to do, but I advise you," turning to the Divorcée, "to go back to the States. You would not be a bit of good here. You may be there."
"You are quite right," she replied sadly. "I'd be worse than no good. I'd need 'first aid,' at the first shot."
"I'm going with her," said the Sculptor. "I'd be more useless than she would." And he turned a questioning look at the Lawyer.
"I must go back. I've business to attend to. Anyway, I'd be an encumbrance here. I may be useful there. Who knows?"
As for me, every one knew what I proposed to do, and that left every one accounted for except the Violinist. He had been in his favorite attitude by the tree, just as he had been on that evening when it had been proposed to "tell stories," gazing first at one and then at another, as the hurried conversation went on.