uld have had his wits and his heart
working at the same time?" And with a laugh Patsy left him and went
inside.

Her eye ran systematically down the rows of seats. Billy Burgeman was
not there. She passed through to the next car, and a second, and a
third. Still there was no back she could identify as belonging to the
man she was pursuing.

She was crossing a fourth platform when she ran into the conductor,
who barred her way. "Smoking-car ahead, lady; this is the last of the
passenger-coaches."

Patsy had it on the end of her tongue to say she preferred
smoking-cars, intending to duck simultaneously under the conductor's
arm and enter, willy-nilly. But the words rolled no farther than the
tongue's edge. She turned obediently back, re-entering the car and
taking the first seat by the door. For this her memory was
responsible. It had spun the day's events before her like a roulette
wheel, stopping precisely at the remark of Marjorie Schuyler's
concerning William Burgeman: "He's the most conventional young
gentleman I ever saw in my life. Why, you would shock--"

A strange young woman doling out consolation to him in a smoking-car
would be anything but a dramatic success; Patsy felt this all too
keenly. He was decidedly not of her world or the men and women she
knew, who gave help when the need came regardless of time, place,
acquaintanceship, or sex.

"Faith, he's the kind that will expect an introduction first, and a
month or two of tangoing, tea-drinking, and tennis-playing; after
which, if I ask his permission, he might consider it proper--" Patsy
groaned. "Oh, I hate the man already!"

"Ticket!"

"Ticket? What for?"

"What for? Do you think this is a joy ride?" The conductor radiated
sarcasm.

Patsy crimsoned. "I haven't mine. I--I was to--meet my--aunt--who had
the ticket--and--she must have missed the train."

"Where are you going?"

"I--I--Why, I was telling--My aunt had the tickets. How would I know
where I was going without the tickets?"

The conductor snorted.

Patsy looked hard at him and knew the time had come for wits--good,
sharp O'Connell wits. She smiled coaxingly. "It sounds so stupid,
but, you see, I haven't an idea where I am going. I was to meet my
aunt and go down with her to her summer place. I--I can't remember
the name." Her mouth drooped for the fraction of a second, then she
brightened all over. "I know what I can do--very probably she missed
the train because she expects to