"Oh, Ezra, I could follow him barefooted through the snow if only he--"
"He's leaving Grand Central to-morrow at ten forty-five," I said.
She fumbled at her neck, and almost tore away the diamond locket that
reposed there.
"Take him this," she whispered hoarsely. "Take it to him at once, and
say I sent it. Say that I beg him to return--that my pride crumbles at
the thought of his going away so far into danger."
I put the locket carefully into my pocket.
"And, Eleanor, try and don't rub him the wrong way about his name. Is it
worth while? There have to be Joneses, you know."
"Tell him," she burst out, "tell him--oh, I never meant to wound
him--truly, I didn't ... a name that's good enough for him is good
enough for me!"
The next morning at nine I pulled up my Porcher-Mufflin car before
Jones' door. He was sitting at his table reading a book, and he made no
motion to rise as I came in. He gave me a pale, expressionless stare
instead, such as an ancient Christian might have worn when the call-boy
told him the lions were ready in the Colosseum.
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