"Yes, we did," Ruth replied shortly. There was another pause. Then in a low, troubled voice Ruth added, "But not now. We're not friends now. Something happened. All her affection for me has died. I have never been forgiven for something."
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure," belittled Will, making violent signs to me to announce the news we bore.
I had a clipping in my shopping-bag cut from the morning paper. I took it out of the envelope that contained it.
"Ruth," I began, "here's something I ran across today."
The telephone interrupted sharply.
"Just a minute," she said, and slid down off the chest and went out into the hall. "Hello," I heard her say. "Hello," and then in a changed voice, "Oh, you?" A pause and then, "Really? Tonight?" Another pause, and more gently. "Of course you must. Of course I do," and at last very tenderly, "Yes, I'll be right here. I'll be waiting. Good-by."
I looked at Will, and he lifted his eyebrows. Ruth came back and stood in the doorway. There was a peculiar, shining quality about her expression.
"That was Bob," she said quietly.
"Bob?" I exclaimed.
"Bob Jennings?" ejaculated Will.