Anna Chapin Ray

“ Far towards the stern, Sir George and Ronald leaned upon the rail. Ronald's eyes were eagerly racing to and fro across the little group of familiar faces; but Sir George, his jaw sagging and his eyeglass in his hand, surveyed them with a calm regret. Suddenly Day, standing on the very edge of the pier, lifted her hand for silence. Clear and distinct across the water, in all its languid cadence there floated back to them the voice of Sir George Porteous.
"Oh, I say," he was observing mournfully; "really, it's a brute of a thing to bid your friends good-by." ”

“ I promised Ronald I'd be brave. But—" with a swift, tragical gesture at the banner of smoke which hung in the sky above a far-off point of land, she added; "but that steamer is carrying off my Ronald, and I just can't live without him."
Furtively Rob rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes; still more furtively he rubbed the back of his hand across the side of his coat.
"Don't mind, Janet," he said then. "You'll feel better, when you've cried it out."
But she shook her head.
"Crying never helps; it only gives one headache and a swollen nose," she said, with brave practicality. ”

“ Then, with a cursory nod at Rob, he turned once more and grasped Mrs. Argyle's hands.
"You've been so good to me," he said simply. "A fellow does get lonely, and you've tried to put it right."
But Day had whirled about, for Ronald's voice was in her ears; and, all at once, it seemed to her that the great black steamer, puffing and straining at her moorings, had blotted out for her the sky and sun.
"Ronald," she said bravely, though with a queer little catch in her voice; "I told you I'd be glad, gladder than any of your other friends. ”