Miss Mathewson
presented him, calling the girl "Miss Linton," and bidding him wrap her
warmly against the spring wind.

"I'll take the best care of her I know," he promised with a friendly
smile. He tucked a warm rug around her, taking special pains with her
small feet, whose well-chosen covering he did not fail to note. "All
right?" he asked as he finished.

"Very comfortable, thank you. It's ever so kind of you."

"Glad to do anything for Doctor Burns," King responded, taking his place
beside her. "Now shall we go fast or slow?"

"Just as you like, please. I don't feel very ill just now, and this air
is so good on my face."

CHAPTER IV

TWO RED HEADS

Jordan King set his own speed in the powerful roadster, reflecting that
Miss Linton, to judge from her worn black clothes, was probably not
accustomed to motoring and so making the pace a moderate one. Fast or
slow, it would not take long to cover the twelve miles over the
macadamized road to the hospital in the city, and if it was to be her
last bath in the good outdoors for some time, as the doctor had
said--King drew a long breath, filling his own sturdy lungs with the
balmy yet potent April air, feeling very sorry for the unknown little
person by his side.

"Would you rather I didn't talk?" he inquired when a mile or two had
been covered in silence.

She lifted her eyes to his, and for the first time he got a good look
into them. They were very wonderful eyes, and none the less wonderful
because of the fever which made them almost uncannily brilliant between
their dark lashes.

"Oh, I wish you would talk, if you don't mind!" she answered--and he
noted as he had at first how warmly pleasant were the tones of her
voice, which was a bit deeper than one would have expected. "I've heard
nobody talk for days--except to say they didn't care to buy my book."

"Your book? Have you written a book?"

"I'm selling one." This astonished him, but he did not let it show. It
was certainly enough to make any girl ill to have to go about selling
books. He wondered how it happened. She opened her handbag and took out
the small book. "I don't want to sell you one," she said. "You wouldn't
have any use for it. It's a little set of stories for children."

"But I do want to buy one," he protested. "I've a lot of nieces and
nephews always coming at me for stories."

She shook her head. "You can't buy one. I'd like to give you one if you
would take it, to show you