Again she started to speak; and a third
time; and each time checked herself. This impossible man, this
creator of impossible situations! She did not know how to begin,
or how to go on after she should have begun. She felt that even if
she had known what to say she would probably lack the courage to
say it--that final-test courage which only the trained in self-
reliance have. The door opened. A station attendant came in out of
the frosty night and shouted:
"Chicago Express! Express for--Buffalo! Chicago! Minneapolis! St.
Paul!--the Northwest!--the Far West! All--a--BOARD!"
Craig seized the handbags. "Come on, my dear!" he cried, getting
into rapid motion.
She sat still.
He was at the door. "Come on," he said.
She looked appealingly, helplessly round that empty, lonely,
strange station, its lights dim, its suggestions all inhospitable.
"He has me at his mercy," she said to herself, between anger and
despair. "How can I refuse to go without becoming the laughing-
stock of the whole world?"
"Come on--Rita!" he cried. The voice was aggressive, but his face
was deathly pale and the look out of his eyes was the call of a
great loneliness.
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