She took it.
He produced the two tickets and they passed the gate, following a porter who carried their luggage.
Presently their porter climbed the steps of a sleeping-car. She followed and sat down beside her valise, resting her elbow on the polished window-sill, and her flushed cheek on her hand.
He passed her and continued on towards the end of the car, where she saw him engage in animated conversation with several officials. The officials shook their heads, and, after a while, he came slowly back to where she sat.
“I tried to exchange into another car,” he said. “It cannot be done.”
“Why do you wish to?” she asked, calmly.
“I suppose you would—would rather I did,” he said. “I’ll stay in the smoker all I can.”
She made no comment. He stood staring gloomily at the floor.
“I’m awfully sorry,” he said, at last. “I’m not quite as selfish as you think. My—my younger brother is in a lot of trouble—down at St. Augustine. I couldn’t have saved him if I hadn’t caught this train.… I know you can’t forgive me; so I’ll say—so I’ll ask permission to say good-bye.”
“Don’t—please don’t go,” she said, faintly.