“Up at the Grand Central.”
“Goodness! You're not going away—now?”
“Yes—going home. I feel awfully bad about it.”
A silence intervened. Then this from Hy:
“You—you're not alone up there?”
“All alone.”
What a charmingly plaintive little voice it was, anyway! The healthy color was returning to Hy's cheeks.
“Well,” said he—“well, say—”
“Yes?” she murmured.
“How long—when does your train go?”