The car had passed out of the old part of the city. And Nancy realised it was ascending the great hill where the Château Hotel looked out over the old citadel and the wide waters of the busy St. Lawrence river. In a few minutes the happy companionship of the past few days would be only a memory.
It was only a little way to her apartments now. Such a very little way. Yes. The porter would be there. He would take her trunks and baggage, and then her door would close behind her, and—She remembered that moment at which she had awakened to consciousness in this man's strong arms in the poor little saloon of the storm-beaten Myra. She remembered the embracing strength of them, and the way she had thrilled under their pressure. It had been all very wonderful.
"Say!"
Bull Sternford had turned back from the window. He was smiling again.
"Yes?" The girl was all eager attention.
"I was wondering," Bull went on. "Maybe you'll' fancy hearing how things are fixed after I see Peterman?"
"I'll be ever so glad. There's the 'phone. You can get me most any time after business hours. I don't go out much. I—"
Nancy broke off to glance out of the window. The automobile had slowed.
"Why, we're at my place," she cried. And the man fancied he detected disappointment in her tone.
The car stopped before the apartment house, and Bull hurled himself at the litter of the girl's belongings strewn about their feet. A few moments later they were standing together on the sidewalk surrounded by the baggage.