“Have you any money?” he cried. “If you could go to Canada—”
“Yes, I have money. In time, if it had not been for this, I should have become rich. But why are you so pale? Is there danger?”
“There’s no time to lose. Are you ready?”
She rose, adjusted her queer little hat before his mirror, and carefully patted her eyes.
“I am ready,” she said.
They went down the stairs and through the sleeping house with noiseless steps.
“Wait!” said Hardy. “Let me look first!”
He went out into the street and looked carefully up and down. No one there! He returned to fetch her. She took his arm with a pathetic, appealing gesture, and they went off through the quietest and darkest streets, both filled with haste and dread, unable to speak.
She was terribly out of breath when they reached the Grand Central Station. While he bought her ticket, she sat panting on a bench, her face concealed by a thick veil, but her little plump hands clasped passionately. A more forlorn, utterly foreign figure couldn’t be imagined.
They had nearly an hour to wait. He sat down beside her and tried to reassure her.