She presented a very pretty problem to his imagination. Here she was,
still so very young that little was written on her face, yet the
little, something unusual, baffling. The mouth, too tightly set, too
drooping--that expressed it all. To educate such a one in the ways of
innocent frivolity!

When the porter's "last call for luncheon" brought that flutter of
satisfaction by which a bored parlor-car welcomes even such a trivial
diversion as food, Dr. Blake waited a fair interval for her toilet
preparations, and followed toward the dining-car. He smiled a little at
himself as he realized that he was craftily scheming to find a seat, if
not opposite her, at least within seeing distance. On a long and lonely
day-journey, he told himself, travelers are like invalids--the smallest
incident rolls up into a mountain of adventure. Here he was, playing
for sight of an interesting girl, as another traveler timed the
train-speed by the mile-posts, or counted the telegraph poles along the
way.

So he came out suddenly into the Pullman car ahead--and almost stumbled
over the nucleus of his meditations. She was half-kneeling beside a
seat, clasping in her arms the figure of a little, old woman. He
hesitated, stock still. The blonde girl shifted her position as though
to take better hold of her burden, and glanced backward with a look of
appeal. The doctor came forward on that; and his sight caught the face
of the old woman. Her eyes were closed, her head had dropped to one
side and lay supine upon the girl's shoulder. It appeared to be a plain
case of faint.

[Illustration: ANNETTE]