She was silent for a moment; then she observed, thoughtfully:
“I guess I’ll call you Jimmy.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Ross. “I don’t like it.”
“I do!” said she. “I think Jimmy’s a darling name.” Suddenly she flung one arm about his neck. “And I think you’re a darling!” she added, with a sob.
“Look out!” Ross cried, sharply. “You mustn’t do that when I’m driving.” He cast a glance along the straight, empty road, and then turned to her. Her dark eyes were soft and shining with tears, but she was trying to smile.
“Oh, Jimmy!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’ve come!”
“All right!” said the Spartan young man. “Then suppose you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I can’t, Jimmy,” she answered. Her hand rested on his shoulder, but her head was turned away. “I can’t—just now. Only, oh, Jimmy! Sometimes I wish I were dead! Dead and buried with my darling mother—”
He could think of nothing adequate to say to that, and, once more giving a careful glance at the road, he patted her hand.
“I’m sorry,” he declared gravely.