He was charming, courteous, affectionate, but, to Daphne, impenetrable. At his urgent entreaty—what could he do without his Daphne, who had kept house for him ever since she was three years old?—she had journeyed to Paris, sold up her flat at Passy, and surrendered her position as dress-designer to the great firm of Pataquin.
“How long are we going to stay here?” she asked Theophilus, in her direct fashion.
“A few years, I hope,” said he.
She bade him talk sense. He countered by the retort that it was the most sensible proposition he had formulated in his life.
“If the situation weren’t so extraordinary,” said Daphne, “our staying on here indefinitely would be monstrous. As it is, why should we eat your bread, and give you nothing in return?
“Ah, don’t!” said Theophilus. She saw that
