“I don’t believe you mean it.” But he smiled this time. At which the little rigid smile stamped itself on her lips; but she timidly withdrew her hands from his.
“Rue, I don’t believe you love me.” This time there was no smile.
She found nothing to answer, being without any experience in give-and-take conversation, which left her always uncertain and uncomfortable.
For the girl was merely a creature still in the making—a soft, pliable thing to be shaped to perfection only by the light touch of some steady, patient hand that understood—or to be marred and ruined by a heavy hand which wrought at random or in brutal haste.
Brandes watched her for a moment out of sleepy, greenish eyes. Then he consulted his watch again, summoned a waiter, gave him the parcels-room checks, and bade him have a boy carry their luggage into the lobby.
As they rose from the table, a man and a woman entering the lobby caught sight of them, halted, then turned and walked back toward the street door which they had just entered.
Brandes had not noticed them where he stood by the desk, scratching off a telegram to Stull:
“All O. K. Just going aboard. Fix it with Stein.”
He rejoined Rue as the boy appeared with their luggage; an under porter took the bags and preceded them toward the street.
“There’s the car!” said Brandes, with a deep breath 115 of relief. “He knows his business, that chauffeur of mine.”