Milly Pardee took a last stand. “Sam Pardee, I’ll never leave here. I’m through traipsing up and down the world with you, like a gypsy. I want a home. I want to be settled. I want to stay here. And I’m going to.”

“You’re sure you want to stay?”

“I’ve moved for the last time. I — I’m going to plant a Burbank clamberer at the side of the porch, and they don’t begin to flower till after the first ten years. That’s how sure I am.”

There came a look into Sam Pardee’s eyes. He rubbed his neat brown derby round and round with his coat sleeve. He was just going out.

“Well, that’s all right. I just wanted to know. Where’s Max?”