heard of.

"And you, Sir?" she was asking the old gentleman.

"Macclesfield," he said very decidedly.

The elderly relative was fidgeting to say hers. I could have guessed it
would be St. Ives.

The conductress made her way from one end to the other.

"All got towns?" she asked. "You, Sir? Pernambuco? I do wish you'd stick to
English names. Are you all ready?"

She rang the bell.

"Now," she said, "the gentleman on the stool has to catch. The Post is
going from Paris to Pontresina."

I rose and looked wildly down the car. The flapper was beckoning slightly.
Her contemptuous boredom had vanished, and she looked a merry child again.
I rushed, stumbled, rocked into her place; she sank with a gasp into mine.

"York to St. Ives!"

It was the paterfamilias who was up now, and the elderly relative was
signing to him. In a breathless scurry she was in his place gasping beside
me. For the first time in her life she spoke to me.

"What an escape!" she said. "There, _he'_s caught--York, I mean. I don't