same papers to-morrow.

"If it got out that I had run away, would there be a scandal?" I asked
Mr. Brett in the cab. But he said that I needn't be afraid; Mrs.
Stuyvesant-Knox was much too clever a woman to let anything she
wouldn't like get into the papers. She would send a paragraph to the
effect that Lady Betty Bulkeley had been suddenly called home or had
gone to visit other friends, or something of that sort. "But she will
almost certainly cable to your people," he went on.

"Yes, but she won't know where I've gone till afterwards, and anyhow,
they can't object to my being with Miss Woodburn," I answered him.

"You don't think they'll send for you to come home at once?"

I shook my head. "They won't do that. They don't want--that is, they
think it wiser for me to stop on this side longer, now I'm here."

"I'm very glad of that," said Mr. Brett and he looked at me as if he
really were glad, in spite of all the trouble I'd made him.

XIV

ABOUT THE TWENTIETH CENTURY LIMITED AND CHICAGO

The train for Chicago is perfectly wonderful, not like an ordinary,
human kind of train at all. I'm in it now, and have been writing
everything about the wedding and what happened afterwards, because I
have a whole room of my own, and I'm much too excited to sleep.

There's a bed in the room--not a hard shelf, but quite a wide, springy
bed, with electric light close by the pillow; there are walls made of
mirrors; there's a sofa, a washhand-stand, and a palm-leaf fan; there's
netting in the window so that you can have it open without getting
black; and there would be plenty of places to put my things if I'd
brought three times as many. But better than anything else, there's a
soft, sweet, brown maid who goes with the room and isn't an extra.
She's the same brown as the porters, only paler than most, and the
train wasn't ten minutes outside New York when she appeared, to ask
what she could do for me. There was nothing at the time, but she didn't
go away. She looked about for a minute, then pouncing on the palm leaf
she began to fan me, slowly and gracefully, not holding on by anything,
though the train was hurling itself through the State of New York
apparently with the speed in which light travels round the world. (I
never could remember how many times it can do the whole distance in a
minute, but whatever it is, it has the air of being a boast.)

I thanked her a good deal, and said I wouldn't trouble her any more,
t