They rode off. The reporter looked at Jennie, and with astonishment saw tears in her softened eyes.
“God grant it, God grant it,” she was whispering.
“What has been the matter with you to-day, Jennie?” he asked kindly. “What? Are you oppressed? Can’t I do anything?”
She turned her back to him and leaned over the bent balustrade of the stoop.
“How shall I write to you, if need be?” she asked in a stifled voice.
“Why, it’s simple. Editorial rooms of Echoes. So-and-so. They’ll pass it on to me pretty fast.”
“I ... I ... I ...” Jennie just began, but suddenly burst into loud, passionate sobs and covered her face with her hands, “I’ll write you ...”
And without taking her hands away from her face, her shoulders quivering, she ran up the stoop and disappeared in the house, loudly banging the door after her.