Each consulted a watch, and looked guiltily at the other.
"It has been very short," said Joyce involuntarily.
"And very sweet!" added George below his breath. "Well, come on, little parcels. One-two-three-four—have I got them all? Why—what is it?"
The girl's face had a piteous look as it was turned to his.
"I had forgotten it all—the Hapgoods, Lozcoski, poor Nate! We were as easy as if there were no trouble anywhere. It all rushed over me once more, and I felt, for the instant, that I could never bear it again. But you will help me? You'll understand now, and not think me foolish and crazy, as you sometimes do?"
"Do I? I did not know it. I'll stand by you in everything, never fear! Come, child, or we'll miss this train, too."
She preceded him without a word, and he was glad to keep quite behind for a little, for when he remembered how he had called her "child" his face was hot with embarrassment. He had never forgotten before. Had she noticed? Her face told him nothing.
As they hurried out through the gates and down the platform to their waiting train, the passengers were descending from another, just arrived. Hastily crossing this tide transversely two men, arm in arm, passed them close in the busy throng.
There was a familiar look about one of them, Joyce thought, as she had just a side glimpse while hurrying by. But, absorbed in her own haste, she did not notice particularly. George stopped short and turned for an instant, then kept on just behind her. He had recognized Nate, and knew him to be in charge of an officer, doubtless being conveyed to the county jail. He had not expected this event till morning, and had meant, himself, to prepare the poor fellow for it. Saddened and angry that the man had been so summarily dealt with, Dalton's face took on its sternest look, which Joyce caught as they seated themselves.
Not knowing its cause, she was startled and chagrined at the change. What had she said, or done, to cause it?