rummaged in that
waistcoat pocket often.)

They went into the dining-room together. They sat down at a small table
with an electric candle on it, beside a mirror. A waiter stood before
them with paper and raised pencil. They ordered, or I suppose they did,
for I believe food was brought. The girl didn't eat a great deal.
Another thing I noticed--she didn't trust herself to look long at a time
into the man's eyes. She contented herself with gazing at his cuffed
wrist resting on the table's edge, and at his hands. His familiar hands!
The familiar platinum and gold watch chain too! Did it occur to him,
when at night he wound his watch, that a little while ago it had been a
service she was wont to perform for him? How thrillingly alive the gold
case used to seem to her--warmed by its nearness to his body. Oh, dear,
oh, dear--what made her so weak and yearning tonight? What made her so
in need of this man? What would Esther Claff think? What would Mrs.
Scot-Williams say?

"Well, Ruth," the man struck out at last, after the waiter had brought
bread and water and butter, and the menu had been put aside, "Well--when
you're ready, I am. I am anxious to hear all that's happened--if you're
happy--and all that."

The girl dragged her gaze away from him. "Of course, Bob," she said, "of
course you want to know, and I am going to tell you from beginning to
end. There's a sort of an end tonight, and it happens I need somebody to
tell it to, quite badly. I needed an old friend to assure me that I've
nothing to be afraid of. I think you're the very one I needed most
tonight, Bob." And quite simply, quite frankly, the girl told him her
story--there was nothing for her to hide from him--it was a relief to
talk freely.

The effect of her story upon the man seemed to act like stimulant. It
elated him; she didn't know why. "What a brick you are, Ruth," he broke
out. "How glad I am I came down here--what a little brick you are! I
guess you're made of the stuff, been dried and baked in a kiln that
insures you against danger of crumbling. It's only an unthinking fool
who would ever be afraid for you. You need to fear nothing but a
splendid last chapter to your life, whoever may threaten. Oh, it's good
to see you, Ruth--how good you cannot quite guess. I saw you yesterday
in the parade--Lucy and Will too--and I got as near home as Providence,
when suddenly I thought I'd turn around and come back here. I was a
little disturbed, anxious--I'll