"Oh," she cried, her whole face alight, "if I could only go back to Joe!"
They were both silent again; Woburn sat with his hands in his pockets
gazing at the floor. At length his silence seemed to rouse her to the
unwontedness of the situation, and she rose from her seat, saying in a
more constrained tone, "I don't know why I've told you all this."
"Because you believed that I would help you," Woburn answered, rising
also; "and you were right; I'm going to send you home."
She colored vividly. "You told me I was right not to take Mr. Devine's
money," she faltered.
"Yes," he answered, "but did Mr. Devine want to send you home?"
"He wanted me to wait at his aunt's a little while first and then write to
Joe again."
"I don't--I want you to start tomorrow morning; this morning, I mean. I'll
take you to the station and buy your ticket, and your husband can send me
back the money."
"Oh, I can't--I can't--you mustn't--" she stammered, reddening and paling.
"Besides, they'll never let me leave here without paying."
"How much do you owe?"
"Fourteen dollars."
"Very well; I'll pay that for you; you can leave me your revolver as a
pledge. But you must start by the first train; have you any idea at what
time it leaves the Grand Central?"
"I think there's one at eight."
He glanced at his watch.
"In less than two hours, then; it's after six now."
She stood before him with fascinated eyes.
"You must have a very strong will," she said.
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