“And he forgot it—on purpose. I hate Slummers!”
“Poor Slummers!” murmured Stephen. “Never mind him, however. We must think now of what is to be done with you. You—you cannot stay here.”
“Can I not? No, I suppose not. I can go back,” she added, with a touch of bitterness.
“My darling,” he said, coaxingly, “I am afraid you must go back. There is an up-train—the last—in half an hour.”
The girl leaned back and clasped her hands in her lap.
“I am very sorry,” he said, grasping her arm; “but what can I do? You cannot stay here. That’s impossible. There is only one inn in the place, and your appearance there would arouse curiosity, and—oh, that, too, is quite impossible! My poor Laura, why did you come?”
“Yes,” she said, slowly, “it was foolish to come. You are not glad to see me, Stephen.”
He bent over her and kissed her, but she put him from her with a touch of her hand, and rose wearily.
“I will go,” she said. “Yes, I was wrong to come. Tell me the way,” and she drew her jacket close.
“Don’t look so grieved, dear,” he murmured. “What am I to do? If there was any place—but there is not. See, I will come with you to the station. We shall have to walk, I am afraid; I dare not order a carriage. My poor child, if you had only foreseen these difficulties.”