The Dark Star

Rue came out of the ladies' dressing room, and he went to her and

guided her into the dining-room on the left, where an orchestra was

playing. In her blue, provincial travelling gown the slender girl

looked oddly out of place amid lace and jewels and the delicate tints

of frail evening gowns, but her cheeks were bright with colour and her

grey eyes brilliant, and the lights touched her thick chestnut hair

with a ruddy glory, so that more than one man turned to watch her

pass, and the idly contemptuous indifference of more than one woman

ended at her neck and chin.

What Rue ate she never afterward remembered. It was all merely a

succession of delicious sensations for the palate, for the eye, for

the ear when the excellent orchestra was playing some gay overture

from one of the newer musical comedies or comic operas.

Brandes at times seemed to shake off a growing depression and rouse

himself to talk to her, even jest with her. He smoked cigarettes

occasionally during dinner, a thing he seldom did, and, when coffee

was served, he lighted one of his large cigars.

Rue, excited under an almost childishly timid manner, leaned on the

table with both elbows and linked fingers, listening, watching

everything with an almost breathless intelligence which strove to

comprehend.

People left; others arrived; the music continued. Several times people

passing caught Brandes' eye, and bowed and smiled. He either

acknowledged such salutes with a slight and almost surly nod, or

ignored them altogether.

One of his short, heavy arms lay carelessly along the back of his

chair, where he was sitting sideways looking at the people in the

lobby--watching with that same odd sensation of foreboding of which he

had been conscious from the first moment he had entered the city

line.

What reason for apprehension he had he could not understand. Only an

hour lay between him and the seclusion of the big liner; a few hours

and he and this girl beside him would be at sea.

Once he excused himself, went out to the desk, and made an inquiry.

But there was no telephone or telegraph message for him; and he came

back chewing his cigar.

Finally his uneasiness drew him to his feet again: "Rue," he said, "I'm going out to telephone to Mr. Stull. It may take

some little time. You don't mind waiting, do you?"

"No," she said.

"Don't you want another ice or something?"

She confessed that she did.

So he ordered it and went away.

As she sat leisurely tasting her ice and watching with unflagging

interest the people around her, she noticed that the dining-room was

already three-quarters empty. People were leaving for café, theatre,

or dance; few remained.

Of these few, two young men in evening dress now arose and walked

toward the lobby, one ahead of the other. One went out; the other, in

the act of going, glanced casually at her as he passed, hesitated,

halted, then, half smiling, half inquiringly, came toward her.