“Yes.”
“Here’s her money,” he said, a little awkwardly.
The Princess opened her wrist bag and he dumped in the shining torrent.
“Shall I—call good-bye to her?” he asked.
“You may go in, James.”
They entered together; and he was startled to see how young she seemed there on the pillows—how pitifully immature the childish throat, the tear-flushed face lying in its mass of chestnut hair.
“Good-bye, Rue,” he said, still awkward, offering his hand.
Slowly she held out one slim hand from the covers.
“Good voyage, good luck,” he said. “I wish you would write a line to me.”
“I will.”