Thorndyke, consumed with inward rage, inquired blandly of Mr. Mulligan: “May I ask if you were invited by Miss Maitland to visit her?” “Lord, no,” responded Mr. Mulligan, cheerfully. “But I’m just prospecting. I don’t know whether I shall like her or not after I know her better; but I expect to like her. The way she sat down on those two young women snobs added a year to my life, and I’m thinking I gave ’em a good whack or two.” “I suppose,” said Thorndyke, longing to throw Mulligan out of the car-window and under the locomotive wheels, “you have engaged accommodations in Miss Maitland’s neighbourhood?” “Never a bit of it. I just found out that Miss Maitland’s station was Roseboro’ station on this road, and I presume there must be some sort of a hotel within reach, or I can stop at the next town.” “There are no towns in that part of the county, and Miss Maitland has informed me that there isn’t a hotel or boarding-house within ten miles,” replied Thorndyke, stalking angrily back into the Pullman. The train stopped at Roseboro’ on being flagged, and Thorndyke had one of the most delicious moments of his life when he stepped into a smart trap driven by Constance herself, and left Senator Mulligan, the man of millions and of pies, stranded at the station, which consisted of the passenger shed and the station-master’s house, which had four rooms, in which the station-master with his wife and eleven children lived in much dirt and comfort. Constance, sitting in the trap, looking remarkably handsome in her summer costume and large black hat, felt a thrill of sympathy for the unfortunate Mulligan, standing in the little shed of a station with his luggage piled around him. Not so Thorndyke, who derived acute pleasure from Mulligan’s miserable situation. “I hope,” said Constance to the forlorn Senator, “that you will come over to see me some afternoon while you are at Roseboro’. Malvern is only six miles away.” “Thank you,” cried Mulligan, at once rising into a mood of enthusiastic optimism, “I’ll call early and often.” “The fellow is a good-natured ruffian, but I hope I’ll be out when he calls,” was Thorndyke’s remark to Constance as they left the sandy road of Roseboro’ station and entered the cool and shaded highway which led to Malvern.