room for the typewriter, and it did not seem there would be air
enough there to last her all day long. And she had grown fond of the
office, with its "literature" and pictures and maps and the men who
had just come from Out There coming in every once in a while. It was
a bond--a place to touch realities. But of course there was nothing
for her to do but comply, and she made no comment on the
arrangement.

She pushed her chair back and rose to go. "Are you alone in the
world?" he asked abruptly then,

"Yes; I--oh yes."

It was too much for him. "How would you like," he asked recklessly,
"to have me get you transportation out West?"

She sank back in her chair. Every particle of colour had left her
face. Her deep eyes had grown almost wild. "Oh," she gasped--"you
can't mean--you don't think--"

"You wouldn't want to go?"

"I mean"--it was but a whisper--"it would be--too wonderful."

"You would like it then?"

She only nodded; but her lips were parted, her eyes glowing. He
wondered why he had never seen before how different looking
and--yes, beautiful, in a strange kind of way--she was.