And in that letter, Ann, who was beaten down and stifled, Ann, the country girl, sick to death of the city, discouraged and disappointed, wrote from her own heart. For the first time in working hours in months, she forgot Georgie and remembered Ann.

It was not till a week later that Ann discovered what she had really done. The manager strutted in. "How many proposals in the last two weeks, since the last reel has been running?" he asked. He had come to take the number of these declarations as an index of the heart appeal that Georgie was making. Mechanically Ann put her hand to the pigeonhole marked "Proposals" and counted them. "Thirty-nine," she answered, and her eyes caught sight of something that made her blanch.

Ann looked at the calendar that hung over her desk. Yes, it was the 20th. The wrong letter—the 20th—the Central station—at 6:45 when the western express came in. The words of the letter she had written and had sent by mistake came to her. A dozen wild schemes went through her mind. She might—of course it was out of the question but the thought presented itself she might ask Georgie Bird to keep the promise she had made for her. For after all, the stranger was good to look at, unspoiled by the city. Unobserved by the manager, she locked her desk and hurried to the boarding house. With what simple finery she had, she arrayed herself, hurried from the boarding house.

She stood at the gate where those who meet friends from the West watch. Then she and her peer expectantly every night at  6:45 as the Western express draws near. 