style="font-size:15px;"> Mr. Richards: “Well, until they miss us, and run back to pick us up, I shall be obliged to ask your indulgence. I will try not to disturb you; I would go out and stand on the platform, but it’s raining.”
Miss Galbraith, listening to the rain-fall on the roof: “Why, so it is!” Timidly, “Did you notice when the car stopped?”
Mr. Richards: “No.” He rises and goes out at the rear door, comes back, and sits down again.
Miss Galbraith, rises, and goes to the large mirror to wipe away her tears. She glances at Mr. Richards, who does not move. She sits down in a seat nearer him than the chair she has left. After some faint murmurs and hesitations, she asks, “Will you please tell me why you went out just now?”
Mr. Richards, with indifference: “Yes. I went to see if the rear signal was out.”
Miss Galbraith, after another hesitation: “Why?”
Mr. Richards: “Because, if it wasn’t out, some train might run into us from that direction.”
Miss Galbraith, tremulously: “Oh! And was it?”
Mr. Richards, dryly: “Yes.”
Miss Galbraith returns to her former place, with a wounded air, and for a moment neither speaks. Finally she asks very meekly, “And there’s no danger from the front?”
Mr. Richards, coldly: “No.”
Miss Galbraith, after some little noises and movements meant to catch Mr. Richards’s attention: “Of course, I never meant to imply that you were intentionally careless or forgetful.”
Mr. Richards, still very coldly: “Thank you.”
Miss Galbraith: “I always did justice to your good-heartedness, Allen; you’re perfectly lovely that way; and I know that you would be sorry if you knew you had wounded my feelings, however accidentally.” She droops her head so as to catch a sidelong glimpse of his face, and sighs, while she nervously pinches the top of her parasol, resting the point on the floor. Mr. Richards makes no answer. “That about the cigar-case might have been a mistake; I saw that myself, and, as you explain it, why, it was certainly very kind and very creditable to—to your thoughtfulness. It was thoughtful!”
Mr. Richards: “I am grateful for your good opinion.”
Miss Galbraith: “But do you think it was exactly—it was quite—nice, not to tell me that your brother’s engagement was to be kept, when you know, Allen, I can’t bear to blunder in such things?” Tenderly, “Do you? You can’t say it was?”
Mr. Richards: “I never said it was.”
Miss Galbraith, plaintively: “No, Allen. That’s what I always admired in your character. You always owned up. Don’t you think it’s easier for men to own up than it is for women?”
Mr. Richards: “I don’t know. I never knew any woman to do it.”
Miss Galbraith: “Oh, yes, Allen! You know I often own up.”
Mr. Richards: “No, I don’t.”
Miss Galbraith: “Oh, how can you bear to say so? When I’m rash, or anything of that kind, you know I acknowledge it.”
Mr. Richards: “Do you acknowledge it now?”
Miss Galbraith: “Why, how can I, when I haven’t been rash? What have I been rash”—
Mr. Richards: “About the cigar-case, for example.”
Miss Galbraith: “Oh! that! That was a great while ago! I thought you meant something quite recent.” A sound as of the approaching tram is heard in the distance. She gives a start, and then leaves her chair again for one a little nearer his. “I thought perhaps you meant about—last night.”
Mr. Richards: “Well.”
Miss Galbraith, very judicially: “I don’t think it was rash, exactly. No, not rash. It might not have been very kind not to—to—trust you more, when I knew that you didn’t mean anything; but—No, I took the only course I could. Nobody could have done differently under the circumstances. But if I caused you any pain, I’m very sorry; oh, yes, very sorry indeed. But I was not precipitate, and I know I did right. At least I tried to act for the best. Don’t you believe I did?”
Mr. Richards: “Why, if you have no doubt upon the subject, my opinion is of no consequence.”
Miss Galbraith: “Yes. But what do you think? If you think differently, and can make me see it differently, oughtn’t you to do so?”
Mr. Richards: “I don’t see why. As you say, all is over between us.”
Miss Galbraith: “Yes.” After a pause, “I should suppose you would care enough for yourself to wish me to look at the matter from the right point of view.”
Mr. Richards: “I don’t.”
Miss Galbraith, becoming more and more uneasy as the noise of the approaching train grows louder: “I think you have been very quick with me at times, quite as quick as I could have been with you last night.” The noise is more distinctly heard. “I’m sure that if I could once see it as you do, no one would be more willing to do anything in their power to atone for their rashness. Of course I know that everything is over.”
Mr. Richards: “As to that, I have your word; and, in view of the fact, perhaps this analysis of motive, of character, however interesting on general grounds, is a little”—
Miss Galbraith, with sudden violence: “Say it, and take your revenge! I have put myself at your feet, and you do right to trample on me! Oh, this is what women may expect when they trust to men’s generosity! Well, it is over now, and I’m thankful, thankful! Cruel, suspicious, vindictive, you’re all alike, and I’m glad that I’m no longer subject to your heartless caprices. And I don’t care what happens after this, I shall always—Oh! You’re sure it’s from the front, Allen? Are you sure the rear signal is out?”
Mr. Richards, relenting: “Yes, but if it will ease your mind, I’ll go and look again.” He rises, and starts towards the rear door.
Miss Galbraith, quickly: “Oh, no! Don’t go! I can’t bear to be left alone!” The sound of the approaching train continually increases in volume. “Oh, isn’t it coming very, very, very fast?”
Mr. Richards: “No, no! Don’t be frightened.”
Miss Galbraith, running towards the rear door. “Oh, I must get out! It will kill me, I know it will. Come with me! Do, do!” He runs after her, and her voice is heard at the rear of the car. “Oh, the outside door is locked, and we are trapped, trapped, trapped! Oh, quick! Let’s try the door at the other end.” They re-enter the parlor, and the roar of the train announces that it is upon them. “No, no! It’s too late, it’s too late! I’m a wicked, wicked girl, and this is all to punish me! Oh, it’s coming, it’s coming at full speed!” He remains bewildered, confronting her. She utters a wild cry, and as the train strikes the car with a violent concussion, she flings herself into his arms. “There, there! Forgive me, Allen! Let us die together, my own, own love!” She hangs fainting on his breast. Voices are heard without, and after a little
