A deep megaphoned voice announced the New York train.
"Your ticket?" I reminded.
"I have it. I was going anyway," she replied.
"Well, then," I said, and opened my bag and produced the two checks. She took them. "Promise me, Ruth, promise always to let me know—always if you need anything, or are unhappy."
Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. Her under lip quavered. She broke down at last. I held her in my arms.
"Oh, Lucy, Lucy," she cried. "You're so good to me. I miss him so. I left the ring in the corner of your top drawer. You give it to Bob. I can't. You're all I have. I've been so horrid to you all my life. I miss Bob so. I hate Tom. I almost hate Tom. Oh, Lucy, what's to become of me? Whatever is to become of me?"
The train gave a little jerk.
"All aboard, Miss," called a porter.
"Your train, Ruth dear," I said gently and actually pushed her a little toward New York, which even now was beginning to appall me. She kissed me good-by. I looked up and saw her floating away in a cloud of fitful steam.
