"Yes; you have actually driven a train fifty miles an hour," laughed Brockway, handing her up the steps of car Naught-fifty. "I have; and now I shall go in and be scolded eighty miles an hour to pay for it. But I sha'n't mind that. Good-night, and thank you ever so much. We shall see you in the morning?" "Yes." Brockway said it confidently, and gave a tug at the bell-cord, to let Maclure know they were safely aboard; but when the door of the private car had yawned and swallowed Miss Vennor, he remembered the President's probable frame of mind, and thought it doubtful. X A CONFIDENCE EN ROUTE When Brockway pulled the bell-cord, he meant to drop off and wait till the Tadmor came along--a manoeuvre which would enable him to rejoin his party without intruding on the President's privacy. Then that reflection about Mr. Vennor's probable frame of mind, and the thought that the late excursion into the fair country of joy would doubtless never be repeated, came to delay him, and he let the train get under way before he remembered what it was that he had intended doing. Whereupon, he scoffed at his own infatuation, and went into the Ariadne to chat with the Burtons until another halt should give him a chance to get back to the Tadmor. The route to the body of the car led past the smoking-room, and the passenger agent, having missed his after-dinner cigar, was minded to turn aside. But the place was crowded, and he hung hesitant upon the threshold. "Come in," said Burton, who was one of the smokers. "No, I believe not; there are too many of you. I'll go and talk to Mrs. Burton." "Do; she's spoiling to quiz you." "To quiz me? What about?" "You wouldn't expect me to tell, if I knew. Go on and find out." Brockway went forward with languid curiosity. "I thought you had quite deserted us," said the little lady. "Sit down and give an account of yourself. Where have you been all afternoon?" "With my ancients and invalids," Brockway replied. Mrs. Burton shook a warning finger at him. "Don't begin by telling me fibs. Miss Vennor is neither old nor infirm." Brockway reddened and made a shameless attempt to change the subject. "How did you like the supper at Carvalho?" he asked. The general agent's wife laughed as one who refuses to be diverted. "Neither better nor worse than you did. We had a buffet luncheon--baked beans and that exquisite tomato-catchup, you know--served in our section, and we saw one act of a charming little comedy playing itself on the platform at the supper station. Be nice and tell me all about it. Did the cold-blooded gentleman with the overseeing eyes succeed in overtaking you?" Brockway saw it was no use, and laughed good-naturedly. "You are a born detective, Mrs. Burton; I wouldn't be in Burton's shoes for a farm in the Golden Belt," he retorted. "How much did you really see, and how much did you take for granted?"