When Brockway pulled the bell-cord, he meant to drop off and wait till the Tadmor came along—a manoeuvre which would enable him to rejoin his party without intruding on the President's privacy. Then that reflection about Mr. Vennor's probable frame of mind, and the thought that the late excursion into the fair country of joy would doubtless never be repeated, came to delay him, and he let the train get under way before he remembered what it was that he had intended doing. Whereupon, he scoffed at his own infatuation, and went into the Ariadne to chat with the Burtons until another halt should give him a chance to get back to the Tadmor.

The route to the body of the car led past the smoking-room, and the passenger agent, having missed his after-dinner cigar, was minded to turn aside. But the place was crowded, and he hung hesitant upon the threshold.

"Come in," said Burton, who was one of the smokers.

"No, I believe not; there are too many of you. I'll go and talk to Mrs. Burton."

"Do; she's spoiling to quiz you."

"To quiz me? What about?"

"You wouldn't expect me to tell, if I knew. Go on and find out."

Brockway went forward with languid curiosity.

"I thought you had quite deserted us," said the little lady. "Sit down and give an account of yourself. Where have you been all afternoon?"

"With my ancients and invalids," Brockway replied.

Mrs. Burton shook a warning finger at him. "Don't begin by telling me fibs. Miss Vennor is neither old nor infirm."

Brockway reddened and made a shameless attempt to change the subject.

"How did you like the supper at Carvalho?" he asked.

The general agent's wife laughed as one who refuses to be diverted. "Neither better nor worse than you did. We had a buffet luncheon—baked beans and that exquisite tomato-catchup, you know—served in our section, and we saw one act of a charming little comedy playing itself on the platform at the supper station. Be nice and tell me all about it. Did the cold-blooded gentleman with the overseeing eyes succeed in overtaking you?"

Brockway saw it was no use, and laughed good-naturedly. "You are a born detective, Mrs. Burton; I wouldn't be in Burton's shoes for a farm in the Golden Belt," he retorted. "How much did you really see, and how much did you take for granted?"

"I saw a young man, who didn't take the trouble to keep his emotions out of his face, marching up and down the platform with Miss Vennor on his arm. Then I saw an elderly gentleman pacing back and forth between two feminine chatterboxes, and trying to outgeneral the two happy people. Naturally, I want to know more. Did you really go without your supper to take a constitutional with Miss Gertrude? And did the unhappy father contrive to spoil your tÊte-À-tÊte?"

There was triumph in Brockway's grin.

"No, he didn't—not that time; I out-witted him. And I didn't go without my supper, either. I had the honor of dining with the President's party in the Naught-fifty."

"You did! Then I'm sure she must have invited you; he'd never do it. How did it happen?"

Brockway told the story of the disabled cooking-stove, and Mrs. Burton laughed till the tears came. "How perfectly ridiculous!" she exclaimed, between gasps. "And she took your part and invited you to dinner, did she? Then what happened?"

"I was properly humiliated and sat upon," said Brockway, in wrathful recollection. "They talked about everything under the sun that I'd never heard of, and I had to sit through it all like a confounded oyster!"

"Oh, nonsense!" said Mrs. Burton, sweetly; "you know a good many things that they never dreamed of. But how did you manage to get Gertrude away from them all?"

"I didn't; she managed it for me. When we got up from the table the train was just slowing into Carvalho. I was going to run away, as befitted me, but she proposed a breath of fresh air on the platform."

"Then you had a chance to show her that you weren't born dumb, and I hope you improved it. But how did you dodge Mr. Vennor?"

"We missed a turn and went forward to look at the engine. Then Ger—Miss Vennor thought she would like to take a ride in the cab, and——"

"And, of course, you arranged it. You knew that was just the thing of all others that would reinstate you. It was perfectly Machiavellian!"

Brockway opened his eyes very wide. "Knew what?" he said, bluntly. "I only knew it was the thing she wanted to do, and that was enough. Well, we skipped back and notified Mrs. Dunham—she's the chaperon, you know—and then we chased ahead again and got on the engine."

"Where I'll promise you she enjoyed more new sensations in a minute than you had all through their chilly dinner," put in Mrs. Burton, who had ridden on many locomotives.

"She did, indeed," Brockway rejoined, exultantly, living over again the pleasure of the brief hour in the retelling. "At Arriba, the engineer turned the 926 over to me, and I put Miss Vennor up on the box and let her run between Arriba and Red Butte."

"Well—of all things! Do you know, Fred, I've had a silly idea all afternoon that I'd like to help you, but dear me! you don't need my help. Of course, after that, it was all plain sailing for you."

Brockway shook his head. "You're taking entirely too much for granted," he protested. "It was only a pleasant bit of 'distraction,' as she called it, for her, and there was no word—that is I—oh, confound it all! I couldn't presume on a bit of good comradeship like that!"

"You—couldn't—presume! Why, you silly, silly boy, it was the chance of a lifetime! So daringly original—so utterly unhackneyed! And you couldn't presume—I haven't a bit of patience with you."

"I'm sorry for that; I need a little sympathy."

"You don't deserve it; but perhaps you'd get it if you could show cause."

"Can't you see? Don't you understand that nothing can ever come of it?" Brockway demanded, relapsing fathoms deep into the abyss of hopelessness.

"Nothing ever will come of it if you go on squandering your chances as you have to-day. What is the matter with you? Are you afraid of the elderly gentleman with the calculating eye?"

"Not exactly afraid of him; but he's a millionnaire, and Miss Vennor has a fortune in her own right. And I——"

"Don't finish it. I understand your objection; you are poor and proud—and that's as it should be; but tell me—you are in love with Miss Vennor, aren't you? When did it begin?"

"A year ago."

"You didn't permit yourself to fall in love with her until you knew all about her circumstances and prospects, of course?"

"You know better than that. It was—it was what you'd call love at first sight," he confessed, rather shame-facedly; and then he told her how it began.

"Very good," said Mrs. Burton, approvingly. "Then you did actually manage to fall in love with Gertrude herself, and not with her money. But now, because you've found out she has money, you are going to spoil your chance of happiness, and possibly hers. Is that it?"

Brockway tried to explain. "It's awfully good of you to try to put it in that light, but no one would ever believe that I wasn't mercenary—that I wasn't a shameless cad of a fortune-hunter. I couldn't stand that, you know."

"No, of course not; not even for her sake. Besides, she doubtless looks upon you as a fortune-hunter, and——"

"What? Indeed she doesn't anything of the kind."

"Well, then, if you are sure she doesn't misjudge you, what do you care for the opinion of the world at large?"

"Much; when you show me a man who doesn't care for public opinion, I'll show you one who ought to be in jail."

"Fudge! Please don't try to hide behind platitudes. But about Gertrude, and your little affair, which is no affair; what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing; there is nothing at all to be done," Brockway replied with gloomy emphasis.

"I suppose nothing would ever induce you to forgive her for being rich?"

"I can never quite forgive myself for being poor, since it's going to cost me so much."

"You are too equivocal for any use. Answer my question," snapped the small inquisitor.

"How can I?" Brockway inquired, with masculine density. "Forgiveness implies an injury, and——"

"Oh, oh—how stupid you can be when you try! You know perfectly well what I mean."

"I'm not sure that I do," said Brockway, whose wit was easily confounded by a sharp tongue.

"Then I'll put it in words of one syllable. Do you mean to ask Miss Vennor to be your wife?"

"I couldn't, and keep my self-respect."

"Not if you knew she wanted you to?" persisted the small tormentor.

"Oh, I say—that couldn't be, you know," he protested. "I'm nothing more than a pleasant acquaintance to her, at the very most."

"But if you knew she did?"

"How could I know it?"

"We are not discussing ways and means; answer the question."

Thereat the man, tempted beyond what he could bear, abdicated in favor of the lover. "If I could be certain of that, Mrs. Burton—if I could be sure she loves me, nothing on earth should stand in the way of our happiness. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

The little lady clapped her hands enthusiastically. "I thought I could find the joint in your armor, after awhile. Now you may go; I want to be by myself and think. Good-night."

Brockway took the summary dismissal good-naturedly, and, as the train was just then slowing into a station, he ran out to drop off and catch the upcoming hand-rail of the Tadmor.