“Why, how could I fail to know him! Adrian—then all is right!”
She forgot Joe and all else save that retreating figure which she must overtake, and dashed across the room regardless of the people who hindered her progress, and among whom she darted with lightning-like speed.
“Adrian! Adrian! Adrian!”
Their train was late, the lady had been helped to the last platform, and the young man sprang after her just as it was moving out. He heard his own name and turned, wondering and startled, to see a light-haired girl fiercely protesting against a blue-coated official, who firmly barred her passage beyond the stile into the dangerous region of a hundred moving cars.
“Your ticket, miss! Your train—which is it?”
“Ticket! It’s Adrian I want. Adrian, who has just gone on that car—oh, so fast, so fast! Adrian!”
“Too bad, miss, and too late. Sorry. The next train out will not be many minutes. Likely your friends will wait for you at your station. Which is it?”
“My friends? Oh! I don’t know. I guess—I guess I haven’t any.”
She turned away slowly, her heart too heavy for further speech, even had there been any speech possible; and there was Joe, the faithful and silent, laying his hand on her shoulder and guiding her back to their own bench.