"I should rather not go to Washington," she breathed again.

"Pittsburg, Chicago?" he hazarded.

"Chicago will do," she asserted with relief. Then the carriage stopped
before the great station, ablaze with light and throbbing with life.
Policemen strolled about, and trolley-cars twinkled in every direction.
The girl shrank back into the shadows of the carriage for an instant, as
if she feared to come out from the sheltering darkness. Her escort half
defined her hesitation.

"Don't feel nervous," he said in a low tone. "I will see that no one harms
you. Just walk into the station as if you were my friend. You are, you
know, a friend of long standing, for we have been to a dinner together. I
might be escorting you home from a concert. No one will notice us.
Besides, that hat and coat are disguise enough."

He hurried her through the station and up to the ladies' waiting-room,
where he found a quiet corner and a large rocking-chair, in which he
placed her so that she might look out of the great window upon the
panorama of the evening street, and yet be thoroughly screened from all
intruding glances by the big leather and brass screen of the "ladies'
boot-black."

He was gone fifteen minutes, during which the girl sat quietly in her
chair, yet alert, every nerve strained. At any moment the mass of faces
she was watching might reveal one whom she dreaded to see, or a detective
might place his hand upon her shoulder with a quiet "Come with me."

When Dunham came back, the nervous start she gave showed him how tense and