. These people, so close to her and yet so
far away, were going home.

"Oh, how I wish you weren't stopping off," said the rancher's wife, an
actual tear on her flushed cheek. "You've been so kind, Mrs. Spence.
And anyone more understanding with children I never saw. When you've
got a boy like my Sandy for your own--"

"By jove!" exclaimed Benis. "They're starting to cut down Miller's hill
at last."

Aunt Caroline rose flutteringly. "There is the water-tank," she
announced in an agitated voice. "Desire, where is your parasol? My
dear, don't kiss that child again, it's sticky. WHERE is my hand-bag?
John, do you see your car?"

"I don't SEE it," admitted John, "but--"

"Bainbridge!" shouted the brakeman.

CHAPTER XIX

Desire was conscious of a brown and gabled station with a bow-window
and flower-beds, a long platform where baggage trucks lumbered, the
calling of taxi-men, a confused noise of greeting and farewell, and
Aunt Caroline's voice uncomfortably near her ear.

"There she is!" whispered Aunt Caroline hoarsely. "Be careful! Don't
look!"

"Who? Where?" asked Desire, wondering.

"Eliza Merryweather. Second to the left."

There was another confused impression of curious faces, of one face
especially with eager eyes and bobbing grey curls, and then she was
caught, as it were, in the swirl of Aunt Caroline and deposited,
somewhat breathless, in a car which, providentially, seemed to expect
her.

Miss Campion was breathing heavily but her face was calm.

"She nearly got it," she said. "But not quite."

"Got what?" asked Desire, still wondering.

"An introduction. Where is Benis? My dear, DON'T LOOK! She is the most
determined person."

Miss Campion herself was staring straight ahead. Desire, much amused,
endeavored to do the same.

"Surely it is a trifle!" she murmured.

But Miss Campion was preoccupied. "Where can Benis be? John, do you
know what is keeping Benis? Oh, here he is," with an exclamation of
relief. "Now we can start. Did I hear you say 'trifle,' my dear? There
are no trifles in Bainbridge. John, I think we might drive home by the
Park."

They drove home by the Park. It was not a long drive, just a dozen or
so of quiet streets, sentineled by maples; a factory in a hollow; a
church upon a hill; a glimpse of two long rows of prosperous looking
business blocks facing each other across an asphalted pavement; a white
brick school where children shouted; then quiet streets again, t