"Oh, give it to him, give it to him, my dear."
And so I did at last.
Will and I went to the theater that night, and supper afterward. It was after midnight when we strolled into the hotel. Robert Jennings was sitting in one of the big chairs in the corridor with a paper up before his face. Will had gone to the desk to get our key, and I went up and spoke to Bob.
"Well, hello!" I blurted out cheerfully. "What success? Did you see her?"
He stood up, and I saw his face then.
"Yes, I saw her," he replied, then with difficulty added, "Don't ask me about it," and abruptly he turned away, tossed aside the paper, and walked straight out of the hotel. He might have been in a play on the stage.
We had arranged to leave for home the following morning. Will called up Robert's room about nine to find out if he was still planning to return with us. There was no answer. I felt anxious about Bob. Will felt simply irritated.
"Ought to have known more than to have gone pressing his suit on a person in Ruth's frame of mind," he grumbled.
Robert Jennings didn't show up until three minutes before the train pulled out. His reservation hadn't been canceled, but I had little hope of his appearance. My heart gave a bound of relief when I saw him coming into the car at the farther end.
"Oh, here you are!" I said. "I'm so glad you've come. We've been looking for you."