to all my other friends!"

"But I refuse to be treated just like all the others," and I started
with her down the gang-plank.

She looked at me from the corner of her eyes, her lips trembling
between indignation and amusement.

"Do you know," she said deliberately, "I am beginning to fear that you
are obstinate, and I abhor obstinate people."

"I'm not at all obstinate," I objected. "I'm simply contending for my
rights."

"Your rights?"

"My right to be with you as long as I can, for one."

"Are there others?"

"Many others. Shall I enumerate them?"

"No," she said, "we haven't time. Here is mother."

They were to take the company's special train to Paris, which was
waiting on the wharf, two hundred feet away, and we slowly pushed our
way toward it. In the clamor and hurry and confusion wholly Latin,
there was no chance for intelligent converse. The place was swarming
with people, each of them, as it seemed to me, on the verge of
hysteria. Someone, somewhere, was shouting "_En voiture!_" in a
stentorian voice. Suddenly, we found our way blocked by a uniformed
official, who demanded to see our tickets.

"You can't come any farther, I'm afraid," said Mrs. Kemball, turning
to us. "We'll have to say good-by," and she held out her hand. "But
we'll soon see you both again in Paris. You have the address?"

"Oh, yes!" I assured her; I felt that there was no danger of my ever
forgetting it.

"Very well, then; we shall look for you," and she shook hands with
both of us.

For an instant, I felt another little hand in mine, a pair of blue
eyes smiled up at me in a way----

"Good-by, Mr. Lester," said a voice. "I shall be all impatience till
we meet again."

"So shall I," and I brightened. "That was nice of you, Miss Kemball."

"Oh, I shall be anxious to hear how you succeeded," she retorted. "You
will bring Miss Holladay to us?"

"If we find her, yes."

"Then, again, good-by."

She waved her hand, smiling, and was lost in the crowd.

"Come on, Lester," said Mr. Royce's voice. "There's no use standing
staring here. We've got our own journey to look after," and he started
back along the platform.

Then, suddenly, I remembered Martigny.

"I'll be back in a minute," I called, and ran up the gang-plank. "Has
M. Martigny left the ship yet?" I inquired of the first steward I met.

"Martigny?" he repeated. "Martigny? Let me see."

"The sick gentleman in 375," I prompted.

"Oh, yes," he said. "I do not kn