e that the young lady would not be completely
unnerved.

"Oh, I'm not frettin' about _her_," said his hostess. "I don't doubt
she can take care of _her_self. If she's like some of her folks, she'll
talk you blind."

Palmerston drove away to hide the smile that teased the corners of his
mouth.

"The good woman has the instincts of a chaperon, without the
traditions," he reflected, letting his smile break into a laugh. "Her
sympathy is with the weaker sex when it comes to a personal encounter.
We may need her services yet, who knows?"

Malaga was a flag-station, and the shed which was supposed to shelter
its occasional passengers from the heat of summer and the rain of winter
was flooded with afternoon sunshine. Palmerston drove into the square
shadow of the shed roof, and set his feet comfortably upon the dashboard
while he waited. He was not aware of any very lively curiosity
concerning the young woman for whom he was waiting. That he had formed
some nebulous hypothesis of vulgarity was evidenced by his whimsical
hope that her prevailing atmosphere would not be musk; aggressive
perfumery of some sort seemed inevitable. He found himself wondering
what trait in her father had led him to this deduction, and drifted idly
about in the haze of heredity until the whistle of the locomotive warned
him to withdraw his feet from their elevation and betake himself to the
platform. Half a minute later the engine panted onward and the young man
found himself, with uplifted hat, confronting a slender figure clad very
much as he was, save for the skirt that fell in straight, dark folds to
the ground.

"Miss Brownell?" inquired Palmerston smiling.

The young woman looked at him with evident surprise.

"Where is my father?" she asked abruptly.

"He was unable to come. He regretted it very much. I was so fortunate as
to take his place. Allow me"--He stooped toward her satchel.

"Unable to come--is he ill?" pursued the girl, without moving.

"Oh, no," explained Palmerston hastily; "he is quite well. It was
something else--some matter of business."

"Business!" repeated the young woman, with ineffable scorn.

She turned and walked rapidly toward the buggy. Palmerston followed with
her satchel. She gave him a preoccupied "Thank you" as he assisted her
to a seat and shielded her dress with the shabby robe.

"Do you know anything about this business of my father's?" she asked as
they drove away.

"Very little; it is between h