e
and I are going to fix it up when we do meet," he said cheerily.

"We have got to find her first," I said, with a feeling of apprehension
coming over me again. And this young American who may have control of
our future (mine and Miss Million's) said cheerfully: "We are going to
find her or know why, I guess. Don't you get worrying."

Such an easy thing to say: "Don't worry"!

As if I hadn't had enough to worry me already! Now this fresh
apprehension! I felt my face getting longer and longer and more
despondent inside the frame of the thin black motor-scarf with which I
had wreathed my hat. The young American glanced at it and smiled
encouragingly.

"I guess you are starving with hunger," he said; "I'll wager you hadn't
the horse sense to eat a decent breakfast before you started away from
the 'Cess'? Tea and toast, what? I knew it. Now, see here, we are going
to climb right down and have a nice early lunch at the first hostelry
that we come to, with honeysuckle and English roses climbing over the
porch."

It was hardly a mile further on that we came to a wayside inn such as
he had described. There it was, a white-washed, low-roofed house, with
roses and creepers, with a little bit of green in front of it, and a
swinging painted sign, and a pond not far off, with a big white duck and
a procession of little yellow ducklings waddling towards it across the
road.

It looked quite like a page out of a Caldecott picture-book. The only
twentieth-century detail in it was the other two-seater car that was
drawn up just in front of the porch. This was a car very much more
gorgeous than the hireling in which we were setting forth on our quest.
She--this other car--appeared to be glitteringly new. The hedge-sparrow
blue enamel and the brass work were a dazzlement to the eyes in the
brilliant June sunshine. In front there was affixed the mascot, a
beautiful copy of "The Winged Victory," modelled in silver.

I wondered for a moment who the lucky owner of such a gem of cars might
be.

And then, even as I descended from the hireling, and entered the inner
porch with my companion, I thought of the last time that I had heard a
small car mentioned.

That was Lord Fourcastles's!

The gnarled-looking old woman who kept this decorative-looking inn shook
her head doubtfully over the idea of being able to let us have lunch as
early as all that.

"Mid-day dinner," she informed us rather reproachfully, "was at
mid-day!"

Howev