Porter: “Not quite so bad as that. We’ll be into Schenectady in a few minutes, miss. I’ll come for your things.” He goes out at the other door.
Miss Galbraith, in a fearful whisper: “Allen! What will he ever think of us? I’m sure he saw us!”
Mr. Richards: “I don’t know what he’ll think now. He did think you were frightened; but you told him you were not. However, it isn’t important what he thinks. Probably he thinks I’m your long-lost brother. It had a kind of family look.”
Miss Galbraith: “Ridiculous!”
Mr. Richards: “Why, he’d never suppose that I was a jilted lover of yours!”
Miss Galbraith, ruefully: “No.”
Mr. Richards: “Come, Lucy,”—taking her hand,—“you wished to die with me, a moment ago. Don’t you think you can make one more effort to live with me? I won’t take advantage of words spoken in mortal peril, but I suppose you were in earnest when you called me your own—own”—Her head droops; he folds her in his arms a moment, then she starts away from him, as if something had suddenly occurred to her.
Miss Galbraith: “Allen, where are you going?”
Mr. Richards: “Going? Upon my soul, I haven’t the least idea.”
Miss Galbraith: “Where were you going?”