"Why not? Look at the weather. Half the time we've been here it's been like this. I don't think Paris agrees with me."
He softened.
"Aren't you well?"
"No."
"What is it? My dear child!" He came toward her.
"Don't call me that," she said.
"Why not, Muriel?"
"It sounds as if you were so much older than I am. Jim——" She put her hand in his—"I'm horrid, I know——"
"You're never that!"
"Yes I am. I'm horrid now. You don't know. I'm not ill, but I'm so tired of Paris. It grates on my nerves. Let's go away now. The servants can pack, and we can be somewhere else by evening."