Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the city room.djvu/232

 tragedy of the night, to which they listened without much comment. Ordinarily, it would have excited a great deal, but the work on election night was too pressing to permit of idle talk. He turned upon the tired reporter, as she entered, a face on which reproach and scorn were strongly blended. She lifted her hand, and the motion of the delicate fingers silenced the words that rushed to his lips.

"If you say one word to me," she asserted, "I shall cry." There was a treacherous break in her voice, though she had tried to make the words light. "I'm worn out," she continued, "and I have my story to write before I can go home. I know everything you want to say. It will be a waste of time to go over it. I want to be left in peace to do my work."

He opened his lips to speak, despite her protest. "If you have any friendliness at all for me," she begged, "go away and leave me alone." And with a lowering brow he went.

Miss Van Dyke wrote her story, putting