“At 5.50.”
“Good. Secure me a seat in the diligence, and have my bill made out.”
The waiter bowed and departed.
“I am sorry to break our engagement to-day, Hockmaster,” said Raine to the American, who had been watching the effect of the telegram with some curiosity, “but I must start for Geneva at once.”
“I like that,” replied Hockmaster; “it's slick. Nothing like making up your mind in a minute. It's the way to do business. I guess I'll come too.”
“You'll have a disgusting drive,” said Raine, viewing the proposal with less than his usual cordiality.
“That's so,” retorted the other imperturbably, “I wasn't expecting the sun to shine just because I choose to travel. I am a modest man.”
“Well, hurry up,” said Raine, seeing that the American was decided. “Perhaps you're wise in getting out of this.”
“I should have done so a couple of days ago, if it had not been for you. You seem to have a sort of way of pushing the lonesomeness off people's shoulders.”
There was an ingenuous frankness, an artless simplicity in the man's tone, that touched a soft spot in Raine's nature.