She said earnestly, almost solemnly: "If you will do this generous thing for—for a stranger—in very deep perplexity and trouble—that stranger will remain in your debt while life lasts!"
She had not intended to be dramatic; she may[227] not have thought she was; but the tears again glimmered in her lovely eyes, and the situation seemed tense enough to George Z. Green.
Moreover, he felt that complications already were arising—complications which he had often read of and sometimes dreamed of. Because, as he stood there in the southern dusk, looking at this slim, young girl, he began to realise that never before in all his life had he gazed upon anything half as beautiful.
Very far away a locomotive whistled: they both turned, and saw the distant headlight glittering on the horizon like a tiny star.
"W-would it be best for us to t-take your name or mine—in case they ask us?" she stammered, flushing deeply.
"Perhaps," he said pleasantly, "you might be more likely to remember yours in an emergency."
"I think so," she said naïvely; "it is rather difficult for me to deceive anybody. My name is Marie Wiltz."
"Then I am Mr. Wiltz, your brother, for an hour or two."
"If you please," she murmured.
It had been on the tip of his tongue to add, "Mr. George Z. Wiltz," but he managed to check himself.[228]