the departure
of the last train was not large.

Conspicuous among it were two persons--a man and a girl. They were not
together. They were not, apparently, acquainted, and they were
unmistakably English. Yet they were looking at each other--and had been
for some time--now furtively, now openly, now in a would-be casual
fashion that deceived neither.

The man's attention was drawn to the girl because she was very pretty.
The girl's attention might have been drawn to the man, because he
represented the masculine equivalent of that form of attractiveness in
her. He was of a good height, well set up, with clean-cut features and
brown eyes, clear and searching, lighting up a healthy sun-browned face;
a good-looking man beyond the ordinary, and one likely to attract the
attention of the other sex.

But the expression of countenance worn by this member of the other sex
seemed to convey more than the idea of a mere casual attraction, for it
passed through varying phases. Now a puzzled frown knitted the brows,
now the velvety-blue eyes dilated in a gaze of fixed scrutiny, then
brightened into a gleam as of one who has solved a perplexing riddle,
and has solved it to her complete satisfaction. Then she came right up
to the other, putting forth her hand, as she said demurely:

"Well, this is a surprise! Why, whenever did you come up here?"

But the stranger responded with something of a stark. The expression of
his face conveyed astonishment, plain and undiluted.

"Pardon me," he said, slightly raising his hat. "I think there must
be--er--some mistake."

It was the girl's turn to exhibit amazement. Then her face flushed,
hardening into a set look of sullen indignation.

"Some mistake?" she echoed. Then witheringly, "Yes, I think there must
be. Pardon _me_, Mr Kershaw. I am very dense. I ought to have seen
that you did not wish to know your friends in another country and under
different circumstances."

"Yes, that is my name. But--er--really it is very remiss of me--but--
Where did we meet?"

May Wenlock stared, as well she might.

"What part are you trying to act now?" she blazed forth indignantly.
Then softening: "But only tell me, Colvin. Is it perhaps that you have
reasons for not wanting them to know who you are?" with a quick anxious
side glance around, as though fearful of being overheard.

"Pardon me again," was the reply. "But my name is not Colvin."

"Not Colvin?" was all poor May could g