light humor, "I suppose a legacy of some sort wouldn't prove unwelcome to you and Bob just about now."
It must have struck Ruth as a stereotyped attempt at fun. But she smiled and replied in the same vein, "I think we'd know how to make use of a portion of it." Then she rose. The door bell had rung sharply twice. "There he is," she explained. "There's Bob now. I'll let him in."
She went out into the hall and pressed the button that released the lock of the door three floors below.
I knew how fleeting every minute of last hours before train-time can be. I motioned to Will, and when Ruth came back to us I said, "We'll just run down the back way, Ruth."
She flashed me an appreciative glance. "You don't need to," she deprecated.
"Still, we will," I assured her, and then I went over and kissed my radiant sister.
Her face was illumined as it used to be years ago when Robert Jennings was on his way to her. The same old tenderness gleamed in her larger-visioned eyes.
"When he comes read this together," I said, and I slipped the envelope, with the clipping inside it, into her hands.
Then Will and I went out through the kitchen, and down the back stairs.
THE END
