Sue, in bitterness of spirit, thought, "How about the diamond chain?" but she said nothing. She felt, suddenly, many years older than Clarice. Was this a girl of fifteen, whimpering like a baby? Was this the friend for whom she had given up Mary?
"And how are we ever to get home?" asked Clarice, in conclusion.
"We must walk!" said Sue, briefly.
"Walk!" shrieked Clarice. "Sue Penrose, are you crazy? It's twenty miles, if it's a step!"
"Nonsense!" said Sue. "It's a short six miles."
"That's just as bad!" moaned Clarice. "You know I should die before we had gone a mile; you know I should, Sue! Isn't there some one we can borrow money from? Can't we go to the hotel and telephone to somebody at home?"
They might indeed have done this, but in her excited state Sue could not think it possible. Her high-strung, sensitive nature was strained beyond the possibility of sober judgment; she could only act, and the action that began instantly was the only one that she could think of. Besides, to see more strangers, perhaps meet with more insults—never! They must walk home; there was no other way; and they must start this instant.
"I am sure you can do it, Clarice," she said, speaking as cheerfully as she could. "You can take my arm, and lean on me when you are tired; and every little while we can sit down and rest. Come! we must start at once; it will be dark before we get home, as it is."
Clarice still protested, but yielded to the stronger will, and the two girls started on their lonely walk.
As they turned their backs on the station, a head was cautiously advanced from behind the building; a pair of sharp eyes followed the retreating figures for a few moments, then the head was as cautiously withdrawn.