d. "And that is why I am so frightened. Don't
you think you could take me to look for them? Please do, Mr. Meyers."

The ill-bred fellow shrugged his shoulders. "What do you take me for,
Miss Thurston? I am not going to let my rarebit get cold. There is
nothing the matter with your friends. They are likely to be along at
any minute."

Barbara did not know what to do. Mr. Hamlin had not yet come in. Yet she
must find out what had happened to Ruth, Mollie and Grace. Bab once
thought of starting out alone and on foot, back up the long country road,
but she gave up the idea as sheer foolishness.

At that moment the grandfather's clock in the hall chimed midnight.
Almost two hours had passed since the two automobiles had entered
Alexandria, and the little town was only eight miles from Washington.

Bab felt she was going to cry before Harriet's guests. She slipped her
hand in her pocket to find her handkerchief. As she silently pressed her
handkerchief against her trembling lips she smelt a delicate perfume.
Something fresh and cool and aromatic touched her face. It was the tiny
rose-bud Peter Dillon had presented to her in the garden!

Now Bab had determined never to ask Peter to do her a favor. She felt
that, once she returned his pledge to him, he had the same right to ask
a favor of her. But what could Barbara do? Her beloved sister and
friends had certainly come to grief somewhere. And Bab was helpless to
find them alone.

"Mr. Dillon," Bab spoke under her breath, just showing her handkerchief
to him with the rose-bud crushed between its damp folds, "won't you help
me to find Ruth?" Bab only glanced at the flower with a shy smile. But
Peter saw it.

He jumped to his feet, his face flushing.

"Put the flower back, Miss Thurston," he said quietly to Barbara. "You do
not need to ask me to help you look for your friends as a favor to you. I
am ashamed of myself to have waited until you asked me. Harriet, I am
going back to look for your guests."

Harriet, who was also feeling uneasy without being willing to confess it,
cheerfully agreed.

"I am going to take your car, Meyers," declared Peter Dillon without
saying so much as by your leave.

Bab and Peter Dillon hurried out to the waiting automobile. Both stopped
only to take coats and caps from the rack in the hall.

If Peter Dillon wished to make a friend of Barbara Thurston, his prompt
response to her plea for help came nearer accomplishing it than anything