the matron rather objected to having this oddly-dressed,
inquisitive girl continually at hand, asking questions. She was busy
and tired, and Margot understood that she was dismissed to her bench
and Joe.

There she settled herself to think. It was time she did. If this
friendly widow, whom her family had always known, could not be found,
where should she go? To some hotel she supposed, and wondered which
and where.

She was still deep in her musings when the matron touched her arm.

"I got an answer. The number is all right. It is the lady's home when
she is in town, but she has been in the country all summer. The
boarding-house--it's that--is closed except for the janitor, and he
doesn't know where she has gone. That's all."

It might be "all," but it made the woodlander's heart sink. Then she
looked up and saw a vaguely familiar profile, yet she knew nobody, had
seen nobody at home, and not even on her journey, whom she could
remember to have been just like this.

It was the face of a young man, who was dressed like all these other
city men about her, though with a something different and finer in the
fit and finish of the light gray suit he wore. A slight moustache
darkened his upper lip, and he fingered this lovingly, as one might a
new possession. A gray haired lady leaned lightly on his arm and he
carried her wraps upon his other. Suddenly she spoke to him, as they
moved outward toward a suburban train, and he smiled down upon her. It
was the smile that revealed him--Adrian.

"Why, how could I fail to know him! Adrian--then all is right!"

She forgot Joe and all else save that retreating figure which she must
overtake, and dashed across the room regardless of the people who
hindered her progress, and among whom she darted with lightning-like
speed.

"Adrian! Adrian! ADRIAN!"

Their train was late, the lady had been helped to the last platform,
and the young man sprang after her just as it was moving out. He heard
his own name and turned, wondering and startled, to see a light-haired
girl fiercely protesting against a blue-coated official, who firmly
barred her passage beyond the stile into the dangerous region of a
hundred moving cars.

"Your ticket, miss! Your train--which is it?"

"Ticket! It's Adrian I want. Adrian, who has just gone on that
car--oh, so fast, so fast! Adrian!"

"Too bad, miss, and too late. Sorry. The next train out will not be
many minutes. Likely your friends will wait for you