g her with mournful devotion. "I say," he interrupted,
"I wish you'd let me write to you. Letters, I mean, and all that. I have
an idea it would kind of buck me up."

"You won't have time for writing letters."

"I'll have time to write them to you. You haven't an address or anything
of that sort in America, have you, by any chance? I mean, so that I'd
know where to write to."

"I can give you an address which will always find me." She told him the
number and street of Mrs. Meecher's boarding-house, and he wrote them
down reverently on his shirt-cuff. "Yes, on second thoughts, do write,"
she said. "Of course, I shall want to know how you've got on. I... oh,
my goodness! That clock's not right?"

"Just about. What time does your train go?"

"Go! It's gone! Or, at least, it goes in about two seconds." She made a
rush for the swing-door, to the confusion of the uniformed official who
had not been expecting this sudden activity. "Good-bye, Ginger. Write to
me, and remember what I said."

Ginger, alert after his unexpected fashion when it became a question
of physical action, had followed her through the swing-door, and they
emerged together and started running down the square.

"Stick it!" said Ginger, encouragingly. He was running easily and well,
as becomes a man who, in his day, had been a snip for his international
at scrum-half.

Sally saved her breath. The train was beginning to move slowly out of
the station as they sprinted abreast on to the platform. Ginger dived
for the nearest door, wrenched it open, gathered Sally neatly in his
arms, and flung her in. She landed squarely on the toes of a man who
occupied the corner seat, and, bounding off again, made for the window.
Ginger, faithful to the last, was trotting beside the train as it
gathered speed.

"Ginger! My poor porter! Tip him. I forgot."

"Right ho!"

"And don't forget what I've been saying."

"Right ho!"

"Look after yourself and 'Death to the Family!'"

"Right ho!"

The train passed smoothly out of the station. Sally cast one last look
back at her red-haired friend, who had now halted and was waving a
handkerchief. Then she turned to apologize to the other occupant of the
carriage.

"I'm so sorry," she said, breathlessly. "I hope I didn't hurt you."

She found herself facing Ginger's cousin, the dark man of yesterday's
episode on the beach, Bruce Carmyle.

3

Mr. Carmyle was not a man who readily allowed himself to be distu