"You won't have time for writing letters."

"I'll have time to write them to you. You haven't an address or
anything of that sort in America, have you, by any chance? I mean, so
that I'd know where to write to."

"I can give you an address which will always find me." She told him the
number and street of Mrs. Meecher's boarding-house, and he wrote them
down reverently on his shirt-cuff. "Yes, on second thoughts, do write,"
she said. "Of course, I shall want to know how you've got on. I... oh,
my goodness! That clock's not right?"

"Just about. What time does your train go?"

"Go! It's gone! Or, at least, it goes in about two seconds." She made a
rush for the swing-door, to the confusion of the uniformed official who
had not been expecting this sudden activity. "Good-bye, Ginger. Write to
me, and remember what I said."

Ginger, alert after his unexpected fashion when it became a question of
physical action, had followed her through the swing-door, and they
emerged together and started running down the square.

"Stick it!" said Ginger, encouragingly. He was running easily and well,
as becomes a man who, in his day, had been a snip for his international
at scrum-half.

Sally saved her breath. The train was beginning to move slowly out of
the station as they sprinted abreast on to the platform. Ginger dived
for the nearest door, wrenched it open, gathered Sally neatly in his