She opened the door at last and came again, wrapped in a fur mantle, carrying a travelling case, and stood looking down at the sleeper as if with some struggle of the soul, some reluctant surrender.
They went out, shutting the door behind them.
The snow was falling still on Tenth Street, out of the crowding night. He held her hand on his arm close to him. She glided beside him noiselessly.
The express office was at the corner, a little dingy, gas-lit room.
“Carriage? Get it in a minute,” said the sleepy clerk. “It's just round the corner.”
They stood together by a window, half opaque with dust. Her face was turned away, and he watched the slant of her white cheek.
“You will have so much to tell me,” he whispered at last.
“I am really very grateful. You helped me to resolve.”
“Your carriage, sir.”
The electric light sputtered over them standing on the curb.