augh and wished him an abrupt "good
night."

She was a great old girl, Frederica--pretty wise about lots of things,
but Rodney was inclined to think she was mistaken in saying women didn't
like adventures. Take that girl this afternoon, for example. Evidently
she was willing to meet one half-way. And how she'd blazed up when that
conductor touched her! Just the memory of it brought back something of
the thrill he had felt when he saw it happen.

"You're a liar, you know," remarked his conscience, "telling Frederica
you hadn't had a good look at her."

On the contrary, he argued, it was perfectly justifiable to deny that a
look as brief as that, was good. He wouldn't deny, however, that the
thing had been a wholly delightful and exhilarating little episode. That
was the way to have things happen! Have them pop out of nowhere at you
and disappear presently, into the same place.

"Disappear indeed!" sneered his conscience. "How about those note-books,
with her name and address on every one. And there's another lie you
told--about forgetting to give them to her!"

He protested that it was entirely true. He had gone into the station
with the girl, shaken hands with her, said good night, and turned away
to leave the station, unaware--as evidently she was--that he still had
her note-books under his arm. But it was equally true that he had
discovered them there, a good full second before the girl had turned the
corner of the stairs--in plenty of time to have called her back to the
barrier, and handed them over to her.

"All right, have it your own way," said Rodney cheerfully, as he turned
out the light.

CHAPTER V

THE SECOND ENCOUNTER

Portia Stanton was late for lunch; so, after stripping off her jacket
and gloves, rolling up her veil and scowling at herself in an oblong
mahogany-framed mirror in the hall, she walked into the dining-room with
her hat on. Seeing her mother sitting alone at the lunch table, she
asked, "Where is Rose?"

"She'll be down presently, I think," her mother said. "She called out to
me that she'd only be a minute, when I passed her door. Does your hat
mean you're going back to the shop this afternoon?"

Portia nodded, pulled back her chair abruptly and sat down. "Oh, don't
ring for Inga," she said. "What's here's all right, and she takes
forever."

"I thought that on Saturday ..." her mother began.

"Oh, I know," said Portia, "but Anne Loomis telephoned she's going to
bring Do