It was returned to me in a few minutes. Heloise had written on it—“Come up.”
Her door was ajar. I stepped in. Her steamer trunk and hand bags were piled there, ready to go.
“Be ready in a moment, Anthony,” she said. Then, “You were coming up, weren't you?”
She was busy doing a last bit of sewing on her coat, and spoke without looking up.
“No,” said I, “I was n't.”
She worked on in silence for a moment. Then she said—“Do we have to go right on, up to the last minute, Anthony, being so dreadfully casual?” I hardly knew how to answer this. It had seemed to me that we had to do precisely that. I dropped into a chair by the bare center table, and held my hat in my two hands.
“Oh. don't worry, Anthony,” she went on. I had never heard her speak in just that tone. It disturbed me. “Don't worry. I'm going. To Harbin—and Moscow—and Paris. In less than an hour I shall be gone. But it did seem to me that we could say good-by up here.”