“Yes, I have plenty of money with me, and I know perfectly well how to travel alone.”
“But you may have to change cars, and suppose you were to be left alone in Rochester in case we had a breakdown and couldn’t pick you up?”
“It wouldn’t be any worse staying in Rochester than it would in some place near where you happened to have the accident. I hope you don’t have any. But I have told you what I would do in case you didn’t call for me. I’d stay at some girls’ club. There are plenty of them in Rochester I’ve read.”
“Well,” admitted Ned. “I suppose you ought to know what you want to do.”
“There’s the station,” exclaimed Nat. “What time did you say the train left?”
“Eight-thirty,” replied Dorothy. “We have plenty of time.”
But when she realized that she was to be left alone, to go in a train to that strange, big city, she felt as if she must cry out against the circumstances that forced her to all this trouble. Why should she deceive her two kind cousins, and desert them to take that risky journey alone? And she did believe her prospective trip dangerous in spite of her assertions to the contrary. It was very different to making the journey to Glenwood when she had had Tavia with her.
Besides, going into the New England mountains was along a quiet way, while this trip—she dared not trust herself to think further. She must decide at once, and she must go—alone to look for Tavia.
“I’ll get you a Pullman ticket,” Ned said rather gloomily, as the auto dashed up to the station, “but I do wish, Doro, that you would come on with us. Of course, in the parlor car you will be quite safe, and can rest better than in the Fire Bird. I’ll see the porter and have him look after you.”
“Thank you, Ned,” Dorothy managed to reply, and, but for his haste to make arrangements for her comfort, the youth would have seen tears in his cousin’s eyes, and noticed that her hands trembled as Nat helped her out of the machine to the station platform.