“But how was I to know? And now it’s too late!” she wailed.
Chapter XXIX
The inhabitants of the little house in Passy were of necessity early risers; but when Susy jumped out of bed the next morning no one else was astir, and it lacked nearly an hour of the call of the bonne’s alarm-clock.
For a moment Susy leaned out of her dark room into the darker night. A cold drizzle fell on her face, and she shivered and drew back. Then, lighting a candle, and shading it, as her habit was, from the sleeping child, she slipped on her dressing- gown and opened the door. On the threshold she paused to look at her watch. Only half-past five! She thought with compunction of the unkindness of breaking in on Junie Fulmer’s slumbers; but such scruples did not weigh an ounce in the balance of her purpose. Poor Junie would have to oversleep herself on Sunday, that was all.
Susy stole into the passage, opened a door, and cast her light on the girl’s face.
“Junie! Dearest Junie, you must wake up!”
Junie lay in the abandonment of youthful sleep; but at the sound of her name she sat up with the promptness of a grown person on whom domestic burdens have long weighed.
“Which one of them is it?” she asked, one foot already out of bed.
“Oh, Junie dear, no … it’s nothing wrong with the children … or with anybody,” Susy stammered, on her knees by the bed.
In the candlelight, she saw Junie’s anxious brow darken reproachfully.
“Oh, Susy, then why–? I was just dreaming we were all driving about Rome in a great big motor-car with father and mother!”
“I’m so sorry, dear. What a lovely dream! I’m a brute to have interrupted it–”
She felt the little girl’s awakening scrutiny. “If there’s nothing wrong with anybody, why are you crying, Susy? Is it you there’s something wrong with? What has happened?”
“Am I crying?” Susy rose from her knees and sat down on the counterpane. “Yes, it is me. And I had to disturb you.”
“Oh, Susy, darling, what is it?” Junie’s arms were about her in a flash, and Susy grasped them in burning fingers.
“Junie, listen! I’ve got to go away at once– to leave you all for the whole day. I may not be back till late this evening; late to-night; I can’t tell. I promised your mother I’d never leave you; but I’ve got to–I’ve got to.”
Junie considered her agitated face with fully awakened eyes. “Oh, I won’t tell, you know, you old brick, ” she said with simplicity.
Susy hugged her. “Junie, Junie, you darling! But that wasn’t what I meant. Of course you may tell–you must tell. I shall write to your mother myself. But what worries me is the idea of having to go away– away from Paris–for the whole day, with Geordie still coughing a little, and no one but that silly Angele to stay with him while you’re out–and no one but you to take yourself and the others to school. But Junie, Junie, I’ve got to do it!” she sobbed out, clutching the child tighter.
Junie Fulmer, with her strangely mature perception of the case, and seemingly of every case that fate might call on her to deal with, sat for a moment motionless in Susy’s hold. Then she freed her wrists with an adroit twist, and leaning back against the pillows said judiciously: “You’ll never in the world bring up a family of your own if you take on like this over other people’s children.”
Through all her turmoil of spirit the observation drew a laugh from Susy. “Oh, a family of my own–I don’t deserve one, the way I’m behaving to your”
Junie still considered her. “My dear, a change will do you good: you need it,” she pronounced.
Susy rose with a laughing sigh. “I’m not at all sure it will! But I’ve got to have it, all the same. Only I do feel anxious–and I can’t even leave you my address!”
Junie still seemed to examine the case.
“Can’t you even tell me where you’re going?” she ventured, as if not quite sure of the delicacy of asking.