"I may have been engaged to the others," said Kathleen, moon-eyeing him, "but I always liked you best, Clifford--er, Tommy--I mean Harry." "You got me at last." Kathleen fenced back at this: "Well, I've no doubt you have had a dozen affairs since." "Oh, no! My heart has only known one real love." He threw this over her head at Marjorie, but Kathleen seized it, to his greater confusion: "Oh, Harry, how sweet of you to say it. It makes me feel positively faint," and she swooned his way, but he shoved a chair forward and let her collapse into that. Thinking and hoping that she was unconscious, he made ready to escape, but she caught him by the coat, and moaned: "Where am I?" and he growled back: "In the Observation Car!" Kathleen's life and enthusiasm returned without delay: "Fancy meeting you again! I could just scream." "So could I." "You must come up in our car and see mamma." "Is Ma-mamma with you?" Mallory stammered, on the verge of imbecility. "Oh, yes, indeed, we're going around the world." "Don't let me detain you." "Papa is going round the world also." "Is papa on this train, too?" At last something seemed to embarrass her a trifle: "No, papa went on ahead. Mamma hopes to overtake him. But papa is a very good traveler." Then she changed the subject. "Do come and meet mamma. It would cheer her up so. She is so fond of you. Only this morning she was saying, 'Of all the boys you were ever engaged to, Kathleen, the one I like most of all was Edgar--I mean Clarence--er--Harry Mallory." "Awfully kind of her." "You must come and see her--she's some stouter now!" "Oh, is she? Well, that's good." Mallory was too angry to be sane, and too helpless to take advantage of his anger. He wondered how he could ever have cared for this molasses and mucilage girl. He remembered now that she had always had these same cloying ways. She had always pawed him and, like everybody but the pawers, he hated pawing. It would have been bad enough at any time to have Kathleen hanging on his coat, straightening his tie, leaning close, smiling up in his eyes, losing him his balance, recapturing him every time he edged away. But with Marjorie as the grim witness it was maddening. He loathed and abominated Kathleen Llewellyn, and if she had only been a man, he could cheerfully have beaten her to a pulp and chucked her out of the window. But because she was a helpless little baggage, he had to be as polite as he could while she sat and tore his plans to pieces, embittered Marjorie's heart against him, and either ended all hopes of their marriage, or furnished an everlasting rancor to be recalled in every quarrel to their dying day. Oh, etiquette, what injustices are endured in thy name! So there he sat, sweating his soul's blood, and able only to spar for time and wonder when the gong would ring. And now she was off on a new tack: "And where are you bound for, Harry, dear?"