“No, now. For a moment only.”
I left her at her mother’s door.
I was up early the next day, but Rose—the younger Rose—for all her late hours, was before me.
I found her at the breakfast table dressed in her ordinary morning blue overall. She was wan.
“But what’s this?” I asked. “Why aren’t you ready for the train?”
“I’m not going,” she said. “I’ve sent some telegrams.”
“Please don’t make it more difficult,” Rose replied, and her eyes filled with tears.
“I hope you haven’t countermanded the car,” I said, after a few moments of swift thought; for I could see that something must be done.
“No—there was no hurry for that,” she mumbled brokenly.