For a moment or two Kitty was terror-stricken.

Then common sense came to her aid. She was free, she was independent: the man might annoy her with his attentions, but he could not harm her. She sat up and met his smile with a grave look of inquiry.

“This is a pleasant surprise, Kitty,” he said, seating himself directly opposite. “Rather a crowd in my part of the train, and I was hunting for a compartment with room to spare when fortune led me here,” he lied. “Not often I’m so lucky.”

Kitty made no response.

“You might have let me know you were going to make a journey,” he said pleasantly, “but perhaps you decided on it since I saw you.” He glanced at her things on the rack. “I see you are going all the way. Well, so much the better for me—eh? Come, Kitty, be friendly and say something.”“I have nothing to say, Mr. Symington.”

“You’re thinking of last night—or, to be correct, the night before last. Well, I’m glad of this chance of apologizing. I’m sorry I struck the postman, but I was mad with the man for interfering, you know. I had something to tell you, Kitty, something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. . . . Well, are you going to forgive me?”

“You had better ask Sam that. You didn’t hurt me—you only disgusted me. I think you should try to find a seat in another compartment.” She was quite cool now. Indeed, she was not sorry to have the opportunity of humiliating him for Sam’s sake.

At her words his face took on a dusky shade, but he asked quietly enough, “Is that quite fair, Kitty?”

“You have no right to my name.” Had she owned a book then she would have opened it. She turned to the window, let up the blind, and sought to ignore him by peering out into the darkness; but if she thought thus to get rid of his company, or even silence him, she was mistaken.

“You are a very foolish little girl,” he said presently. “Here you are, running away to London, where you haven’t a friend—”“Who told you that?” she demanded, turning on him.

“Well, have you?”

“Yes!” It was true. She had suddenly remembered that Colin was there, not that she expected ever to meet him. But the inspiration served her purpose: Symington was taken aback.

“Then it is some one your uncle does not know of,” he said sharply, and wished he had not spoken, for she was quick to retort—

“So my uncle told you I was in the train, though you pretended to be surprised to see me! I may be foolish, Mr. Symington, but I’m not utterly stupid.”

“You are—delightfully stupid,” he returned, restraining his temper, “if you think I’m going to let you disappear into London before I have seen what your friend is like. London is a dangerous place, as you would know if you had ever shown your pretty face in it before. Now don’t get excited. Be reasonable—patient, if you like to call it that. I don’t wonder at your running away from your awful relations and that dead-alive village, but what are you going to do in London?”

Kitty, now both angry and uneasy, did not reply.“I don’t mean to be impertinent,” he went on, “but I can’t help being aware that you have no money—or, at least, very little. Now in London—”

“You needn’t concern yourself whether I have money or not,” she interrupted hotly. “You will force me to leave this—”

“Please—just a moment. I can’t help concerning myself—no man could—in the circumstances. And as I happen to be a man who is in love with you—oh, you know it very well—”

She rose to take her things from the rack. It was certainly not a wise move. With a strange laugh he sprang up and caught her, prisoning her arms.

“Silly little girl,” he whispered passionately, “to think you can be quit of me so easily! No, no! I’ve got you and I mean to keep you. Don’t struggle—it’s no use. There!” he had her fast. They swayed a little with the movement of the train. “Now listen, Kitty,” he continued, “you’ll like me better when you know me better. I’m not a bad sort, and I can give you things you’ve never dreamed of. Let’s be friends for the present. I won’t hurry you about the other thing.” His voice sounded a little breathless. “In a few hours we’ll be in London. If your friend is there, good and well; but if not, you must let me look after you—show you where to stay, and so on. Leave everything to me. We’ll have a jolly good time while you’re getting to know me—”

Wrenching one of her hands free she struck him in the face.

“You beast!”

Doubtless the word stung more than the blow. A madness grew in his eyes.

“By Heavens, I’ll kiss you for that!” he cried—and let her go with a stifled curse. The girl sank into her corner, ruddy. The man sat down, ghastly.

The corridor door was drawn back by a young woman in rather fashionable attire. In her left hand she had a “sevenpenny,” a finger marking the place. Without a glance at either occupant she stepped in and, leaving the door open, seated herself and began to read.

Kitty had again turned her face to the window, and soon the shameful glow faded, leaving her pale. The natural reaction came, and she wanted to cry. Symington’s colour, on the other hand, had risen. Once more he sat opposite, looking hot and sulky. After a little while he produced his cigarette case, but he put it back unopened. He would have given something for a newspaper though it had been a week old. He was furious with the intruder, and now and then took a stealthy glance at her which might possibly have alarmed her had she observed it. Now and then, also, he took such a glance at Kitty, and at last discovered that she was on the verge of tears. Confound it! she must not be allowed to make a scene. He transferred himself to her side.

“Look here, Kitty, it’s all right,” he whispered, and surreptitiously put his hand on her elbow.

She started as if from pollution. “Can’t you leave me alone?” she said under her breath. “I’ll never want to see you again, but I’ll hate you a little less, perhaps, if you go back to the compartment you came from—anywhere out of this.”

Nettled, he replied, “You may as well make up your mind that I’m going to see you start safe in London.”

She drew away from him as far as possible and resumed her study of the darkness.

Symington, trying to look as if he had not been rebuffed, lay back, folded his arms and stared openly, rather rudely at the intruder, who was now making a pencil jotting on the fly-leaf of her book. When she had finished writing she went back to the printed page, read for a few moments, and stopped as if an idea had struck her. She put up her hand and pressed the button labelled “Attendant.” Then she returned to the story.

It was beginning to dawn on Symington that she was not a bad looking girl, though she must be a pure idiot, when a steward from the sleeping-car appeared in the doorway. The man saluted the girl respectfully, and as though he were pleased to see her.

“Didn’t know you were travelling with us to-night, Miss,” he remarked.

She smiled upon him, and tearing out the fly-leaf, folded and handed it to him with a look which apparently he understood. He bowed and retired.

Symington had got the length of admitting to himself that in other circumstances she might have made a pleasant enough travelling companion, when the official again appeared. Not a little to Symington’s surprise it was himself who the man now addressed.

“Excuse me, sir,” came the polite English speech, “but I can find you a comfortable seat in another part of the train.”After a slight pause—“Thanks,” said Symington shortly, “but I’m pretty well where I am.”

“Sorry sir, but this compartment is reserved for ladies only,” said the other, politely as before, and proceeded to affix to the window a label bearing out his statement.

Symington hesitated, but he had the wit to realize that there was nothing for it but to go. Bluster would only make him ridiculous. With what dignity he could command he said to Kitty, “I’ll see you when we arrive,” favoured the intruder with a scowl which ought to have slain her, but which nearly made her smile, and followed the official.

And Kitty began to sob helplessly, her face in her handkerchief.

At the end of, perhaps, a couple of minutes she felt a light touch on her shoulder, and was aware that the intruder was sitting down beside her.

“If you cry any longer,” said a calm low-pitched voice, “I’ll be thinking I did the wrong thing in interfering. Besides, the attendant will be here immediately with some tea for us, and he might think he had done the wrong thing, too. Also, you have nothing to cry about now—have you?”“Oh,” said Kitty, wiping her eyes with one hand and groping for the stranger’s with the other, “the relief was too much for me. How can I ever thank you for being so kind and c-clever!”

“You can postpone that till another day, Miss Carstairs—don’t be alarmed: I saw it on your luggage,” the other said, with a reassuring handclasp. “Mine’s Hilda Risk, though I’m quite a cautious person, as a rule. To-night I made an exception,” she went on, giving Kitty time to recover herself, “and interfered in a way that must have seemed rather extraordinary to you. But I simply couldn’t help it. I noticed you before you got into the train, and I saw you were troubled and nervous. I noticed the—oh, well, the gentleman arrive at the last moment and get on board after glaring about him. And as I happened to be just next door to you, and in a seat next the corridor, I observed him prowling along, ever so often, and taking stock of your compartment. And every time he appeared, I admired him less—I hardly know why. And the last time he came I saw him grin. And when he entered your compartment I tried calling myself a fool, and telling myself it was none of my business, but I couldn’t rest, and after a little while I took the chance of putting my foot in it dreadfully—and you know the rest. Feeling better now?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Kitty answered, turning her attention from her eyes to her pretty hair. “But you were so cool!”

“I suppose I was. Once I’ve made up my mind to do a thing, I get that way. Besides, I’m never afraid of a man!”

“Never afraid of a man!” cried Kitty in tones of such amazement that her new friend checked a laugh.

“No; because, you see, a man in his soul is always afraid of a woman. It’s a useful thing to remember, Miss Carstairs.”

“But—but do you—hate men?”

“On the contrary! Most of my friends are men. Here comes the tea; now we’ll be happy!” The attendant placed the tray on the seat, beamed on Miss Risk and withdrew.

Kitty looked like crying again.

“I believe you’re hungry,” said Hilda. “Fall to on the bread and butter, and I’ll pour out. It requires a little practice, you know.” She proceeded to talk about herself, explaining, much to Kitty’s interest, that she was a journalist. “Most of my work consists of ‘specials’ for The Lady’s Mirror, rather a swagger weekly, though quite young. I ‘do’ all sorts of big functions, swell weddings, and so forth. I’ve a knack for making dreary things look bright in print, also a knack for making the dull remarks of prominent persons seem brilliant. These are the chief reasons, I fancy, why the Editor sends me all the way from London instead of employing some one on the spot. I have just come from Aberdeen, and if you read my article in the next week’s Mirror, you will imagine that I was in fairyland instead of in the worst of weather, at a damaged garden party, among a few hundred ordinary humans who wished themselves at home! But I enjoyed myself—I generally do.”

She looked as if she did, thought Kitty, venturing for the first time to take note of her new friend’s appearance. Hilda inclined to fairness. Her hair was a pale brown without tinge of red, and her fine skin was almost pale, though the lips were warmly coloured. Her nose was short and straight, her chin, while nicely rounded, hinted at a certain boldness—not aggressiveness—of character. Her dark, bluish-grey eyes were unusually wide-set, and this peculiarity—for it was such—affected you first as merely piquant, but ere long as very charming with its suggestion of sincerity and honesty. She was probably six or seven years older than Kitty. She chatted on about herself and her work till she saw that Kitty had made a fair meal.

“Feeling pretty fit now, aren’t you?” she said encouragingly, and rang the bell.

“Oh, quite different; I don’t know what to say to you, Miss Risk,” Kitty said gratefully. “You’ve been so good to me—and you don’t know a thing about me.”

“May I ask two questions?”

“Ask anything—please.”

“Just two for the present. Have you friends meeting you at Euston?”

“No.”

“And where do you want to go on your arrival in London?”

“I—don’t know.”

Hilda nodded gravely. “I see you have a story,” she said, “but even if you wish to tell it, I want you to keep it back—for the present, at any rate. You and I must have a nap, or we shall be mere wrecks at the end of the journey—and I’ve pages to cover before lunch-time. Ah, here he comes!”

The attendant appeared carrying pillows and rugs. “I don’t think you’ll be disturbed, Miss,” he said, ere he retired with the tray and the silver Hilda had laid on it.

Two minutes later she had Kitty tucked up on one of the seats.

“Now go to sleep without wasting a moment in worrying over what’s going to happen a few hours hence. We’ll manage nicely. Leave it to me.”

And Kitty left it. She was not used to being taken care of, but even the novelty of that experience did not long withstand slumber. In a few minutes she had forgotten it along with her weariness and woes.

* * * * *

As the porter took their things, Hilda whispered to Kitty—

“Don’t look about you; and if you happen to see him, don’t show it. Come along!”

Presently, they were driving westwards in an open taxi-cab. It was a lovely morning, and the air was delicious after the confinement of the long journey.

“What a nice country colour you have,” Hilda remarked, “but you’re not a country-bred girl, are you?”

“Why do you say that?”“Because you take all this as a matter of course.”

“You mean that I don’t seem excited? But, you see, I—I’m wondering.”

“Where we are going?” said Hilda, taking a quick glance behind.

“Am I rude?”

“Not at all. A most natural thing to wonder about. Well, at the present, we are going to call—just for a moment—on my rich and only brother, who does not approve of my way of life, though he’s as good as any brother could be. After I have given him a message you are coming home with me for breakfast—and that’s enough to go on with, I hope.”

“But you don’t know anything about me!” cried Kitty.

Hilda’s smile was very kind. “I certainly don’t know your pedigree, nor the name and address of your dentist; but I believe I could guess almost as much as you could tell me concerning your recent troubles. However, you can tell me what you will, later on. Meantime, take it easy and get up an appetite.”

The cab turned to the left, negotiating a maze of streets of varied aspect, and at last drew up at the imposing doorway of Aberdare Mansions.“We shall take our things with us,” said Hilda, “and find another cab when we need it.”

In the hall, waiting for the lift, she said: “Now don’t be alarmed. Our friend of last night followed us in another taxi, and has doubtless noted the address. I fancied he would do something like that, and accordingly we have stopped here.”

“To put him on a wrong scent!” Kitty exclaimed almost gleefully. “How clever you are!”

“Now let’s go up and give my brother the message. Our things can lie here till we come down again. In you go!”

They soared to the fourth floor, where the conductress rang at the door on the right. A discreet-looking man-servant opened, and permitted himself to smile a welcome.

“Good morning, Sharp,” said Hilda. “We’re not coming in. I want to see Mr. Risk for twenty seconds. As it’s so early, he may come in his dressing-gown. Tell him it’s most urgent.”

Possibly Sharp was used to Miss Risk’s ways, for he went without hesitation, and before long his master, garbed as Hilda had suggested, came forward. He was tall, thin, clean-shaven, and you would have known him as Hilda’s brother by his eyes.

“Good Lord!” he exclaimed at the sight of Kitty. “I beg your pardon!” he added quickly. “What is it, Hilda?”

“Just this, John. If a gentleman, more or less, should call here with inquiries about a Miss Kitty Carstairs, you will oblige by treating him as you would treat an undesirable person inquiring for your own sister. And please instruct Sharp accordingly.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Risk, without the slightest emotion of any kind. “I’ll remember, and so shall Sharp. But may I know the gentleman’s name, more or less?”

Hilda turned to Kitty. “Would you mind?”

“Mr. Symington,” murmured Kitty, with a lovely, shameful colour.

“Thank you. . . . But, my dear sister, where are your manners?”

It was Hilda’s turn to blush. “Oh, Miss Carstairs, do forgive me! That wretched man put everything out of my head. Let me introduce my brother, Mr. Risk—Miss Carstairs.”

Mr. Risk held out his hand—apparently he had forgotten his costume—and the embarrassed girl could not but take it.“I never wonder at my sister making friends,” he said pleasantly, “but I do marvel that she keeps any. Well, Hilda, won’t you and Miss Carstairs stay and take breakfast with me?”

“Impossible—thanks all the same. Good-bye, John, and don’t forget the name.”

“I will,” he retorted teasingly, “and treat all inquiring gentlemen as you requested.”

Hilda went laughing into the lift, and Kitty, feeling the friendly clasp of her arm, smiled almost happily.