Smitten with remorse, I picked up her hand and fell to patting it violently, trying to think of something to say. The exercise did not appear to stimulate my wits. "Then--then I'm to go with you?" she asked. "I will see," I said, weakly, "but I fear there's trouble ahead for this expedition." "I fear there is," she agreed, in a cheerful voice. "You have a rifle and a cage in your luggage. Are you going to trap Indians and have me report their language?" "No, I'm not going to trap Indians," I said, sharply. "They may trap us--but that's a detail. What I want to say to you is this: Professor Farrago detests unmarried women, and I forgot it when I engaged you." "Oh, is that all?" she asked, laughing. "Not all, but enough to cost me my position." "How absurd! Why, there are millions of things we might do!--millions!" "What's one of them?" I inquired. "Why, we might pretend to be married!" Her frank and absolutely innocent delight in this suggestion was refreshing, but troubling. "We would have to be demonstrative to make that story go," I said. "Why? Well-bred people are not demonstrative in public," she retorted, turning a trifle pink. "No, but in private--" "I think there is no necessity for carrying a pleasantry into our private life," she said, in a perfectly amiable voice. "Anyway, if Professor Farrago's feelings are to be spared, no sacrifice on the part of a mere girl could be too great," she added, gayly; "I will wear men's clothes if you wish." "You may have to anyhow in the jungle," I said; "and as it's not an uncommon thing these days, nobody would ever take you for anything except what you are--a very wilful and plucky and persistent and--" "And what, Mr. Gilland?" "And attractive," I muttered. "Thank you, Mr. Gilland." "You're welcome," I snapped. The near whistle of a locomotive warned us, and I rose in the carriage, looking out across the sand-hills. "That is probably our train," observed the pretty stenographer. "_Our_ train!" "Yes; isn't it?" "Then you insist--" "Ah, no, Mr. Gilland; I only trust implicitly in my employer." "We'll wait till we get to Citron City," I said, weakly; "then it will be time enough to discuss the situation, won't it?" "Yes, indeed," she said, smiling; but she knew, and I already feared, that the situation no longer admitted of discussion. In a few moments more we emerged, without warning, from the scrub-crested sand-hills into the single white street of Citron City, where China-trees hung heavy with bloom, and magnolias, already set with perfumed candelabra, spread soft, checkered shadows over the marl. The train lay at the station, oceans of heavy, black smoke lazily flowing from the locomotive; negroes were hoisting empty fruit-crates aboard the baggage-car, through the door of which I caught a glimpse of my steel cage and remaining paraphernalia, all securely crated.