“Aren’t you thankful I made you come?” piped Julia.
“You darling,” said Hubert and put her hand to his lips. . . .
An hour had gone by, and Challenger, refreshed and comforted, was on the
point of taking his leave when Julia knitted her brows.
“I suppose we’re wise,” she said.
Her _fiancé_ stared.
“What—what d’you mean—‘wise’?” he stammered.
“To take this South Street flat.”
Challenger recoiled. For a moment he appeared about to founder. Then he
strove to speak—ineffectually.