I sat down and tried to imagine what Breck could imply by the "last chapter." At any rate I decided that the next one was to resign my position as Mrs. Sewall's secretary. That was clear. I wrote to her in my most careful style. I told her that until she was able to replace me, I would do my best to carry on her correspondence in my rooms in Irving Place. She could send her orders to me by the chauffeur; I was sorry; I hoped she would appreciate my position; she had been very good to me; Breckenridge would explain everything, and I was hers faithfully, Ruth Chenery Vars. Esther didn't come back all night--nor even the next day. I could have sallied forth and found some of our old associates, I suppose; but I knew that they would all still be discussing the parade, and somehow I wanted no theorizing, no large thinking. I wanted no discussion of the pros and cons of big questions and reforms. I wanted a little practical advice--I wanted somebody's sympathetic hand. About seven o'clock the next evening, the telephone which Esther and I had indulged in interrupted my lonely contemplations with two abrupt little rings. I got up and answered it weakly. I feared it would be Mrs. Sewall--or Breck, but it wasn't. "Is that you, Ruth?" Bob! It was Bob calling me! Bob's dear voice! "Yes," I managed to reply. "Yes, Bob. Yes, it's I." "May I see you?" "Yes, you may see me." "When? May I see you now?" "Why, yes. You may see me _now_." "All right. I'm at the Grand Central. Just in. I called your other number and they gave me this. I don't know where it is. Will you tell me?" I could feel the foot that my weight wasn't on trembling. "Yes, I'll tell you," I said, "but I'd rather meet _you_--some nicer place. Couldn't I meet you?" "Yes--if you'd rather. Can you come _now_?" "Yes, now, Bob, this very minute." "All right, then." He named a hotel. "The tea-room in half an hour. Good-by." "Good-by," I managed to finish; and I was glad when I hung up the receiver that Esther wasn't there. CHAPTER XXIV THE OPEN DOOR No one would have guessed who saw a girl in a dark-blue, tailored suit enter the tea-room that evening about seven o'clock, and greet a man, with a brief and ordinary hand-shake, that there was a tremor of knees and hammering of heart underneath her quiet colors; and that the touch of the man's bare hand, even through her glove, sent something zigzagging down through her whole being, like a streak of lightning through a cloud. All she said was: "Hello, Bob. I've come, you see." And he quietly, "Yes, I see. You've come." He dropped her hand. They looked straight into each other's eyes an instant. "Anything the matter with anybody at home?" she questioned. "Oh, no, nothing," he assured her. "Everybody's all right. Are you all right, Ruth?"