"You said just what I wanted you to say: the nicest things; the things
I was yearning for. Quite different from what you are saying to-night."
"If you thought of me so much, why didn't you write to me?"
"I did. I wrote twice."
"I never got them."
"I will tell you why you never got them if you will promise not to
laugh."
"I promise."
"They were directed simply to Miss Ruth Heywood, China. And China, I
have learned since, is a larger place than Longfields."
"Oh, you poor boy!"
"And when I was a freshman at Cambridge, I tried hard to fall in love
with a girl because she reminded me of you."
Ruth was silent. Cyrus went on. "When you first spoke here, a few
minutes ago, your voice affected me in a way--in a way I can't
describe. It seemed to open vistas of memory, as in a fairy tale. And
the instant I realized that we were again together--why--it all came
back with a rush--as of sunshine--like a wave, or a flood of unexpected
happiness--and hope."
"Oh, Drowsy, what charming nonsense!"
"Yes--it is nonsense, if that kind of love is nonsense--the kind that
begins in boyhood and never dies--that holds to one woman and will have
no other."
He felt a hand on his arm. In her voice came a gentler note. "Listen,
Drowsy. My uncle and I are on our way to a train. I am starting for
Italy. When I know my permanent address I will--perhaps--see that you
get it--indirectly, but not from me. Then, without committing either
of us, if you are still as blind, as reckless and perverse as you are
to-night, you can----"
"Still alive, Ruth?"
The voice came from the darkness and was close behind them.
Cyrus was presented as an old friend. He assisted the uncle in pouring
the gasoline into the tank. The uncle was in haste to get away, still
hoping to catch a train. There were a few words of parting before the
motor with its two occupants slid away into the darkness.
This parting, to Cyrus, seemed even more sudden than the old one, long
years ago.
For many minutes he stood looking in their direction. The night was
black, and he saw nothing. But in his heart was a rosy dawn.
Incidentally, but of far less importance, he knew on what portion of
the earth he had landed.
[Illustration]