That interested her. She enquired curiously in regard to wireless telegraphy and other matters concerning ocean steamers.
In Albany her first wave of loneliness came over her in the stuffy dining-room of the big, pretentious hotel, when she found herself seated at a small table alone with this man whom she seemed, somehow or other, to have married.
As she did not appear inclined to eat, Brandes began to search the card for something to tempt her. And, glancing up presently, saw tears glimmering in her eyes.
For a moment he remained dumb as though stunned 98 by some sudden and terrible accusation—for a moment only. Then, in an unsteady voice:
“Rue, darling. You must not feel lonely and frightened. I’ll do anything in the world for you. Don’t you know it?”
She nodded.
“I tell you,” he said in that even, concentrated voice of his which scarcely moved his narrow lips, “I’m just crazy about you. You’re my own little wife. You’re all I care about. If I can’t make you happy somebody ought to shoot me.”
She tried to smile; her full lips trembled; a single tear, brimming, fell on the cloth.
“I—don’t mean to be silly.... But—Brookhollow seems—ended—forever....”