Hedrick returned and announced that they had just gone to the
dining car and were awaiting him there. He hurried to the diner
and made his way to their table. Uncle Caspar and his niece were
facing him as he came up between the tables, and he saw, with no
little regret, that he was to sit beside the aunt--directly
opposite the girl, however. She smiled up at him as he stood
before them, bowing. He saw the expression of inquiry in those
deep, liquid eyes of violet as their gaze wandered over his hair.

"Your head? I see no bandage," she said, reproachfully.

"There is a small plaster and that is all. Only heroes may have
dangerous wounds," he said, laughingly.

"Is heroism in America measured by the number of stitches or the
size of the plaster?" she asked, pointedly. "In my country it is
a joy, and not a calamity. Wounds are the misfortune of valor.
Pray, be seated, Mr. Lorry is it not?" she said, pronouncing it
quaintly.

He sat down rather suddenly on hearing her utter his name. How
had she learned it? Not a soul on the train knew it, he was
sure.

"I am Caspar Guggenslocker. Permit me, Mr. Lorry, to present my
wife and my niece, Miss Guggenslocker," said the uncle, more
gracefully than he had ever heard such a thing uttered before.

In a daze, stunned by the name,--Guggenslocker, mystified over
their acquaintance with his own when he had been foiled at every