After a slight pause—“Thanks,” said Symington shortly, “but I’m pretty well where I am.” “Sorry sir, but this compartment is reserved for ladies only,” said the other, politely as before, and proceeded to affix to the window a label bearing out his statement. Symington hesitated, but he had the wit to realize that there was nothing for it but to go. Bluster would only make him ridiculous. With what dignity he could command he said to Kitty, “I’ll see you when we arrive,” favoured the intruder with a scowl which ought to have slain her, but which nearly made her smile, and followed the official. And Kitty began to sob helplessly, her face in her handkerchief. At the end of, perhaps, a couple of minutes she felt a light touch on her shoulder, and was aware that the intruder was sitting down beside her. “If you cry any longer,” said a calm low-pitched voice, “I’ll be thinking I did the wrong thing in interfering. Besides, the attendant will be here immediately with some tea for us, and he might think he had done the wrong thing, too. Also, you have nothing to cry about now—have you?” “Oh,” said Kitty, wiping her eyes with one hand and groping for the stranger’s with the other, “the relief was too much for me. How can I ever thank you for being so kind and c-clever!” “You can postpone that till another day, Miss Carstairs—don’t be alarmed: I saw it on your luggage,” the other said, with a reassuring handclasp. “Mine’s Hilda Risk, though I’m quite a cautious person, as a rule. To-night I made an exception,” she went on, giving Kitty time to recover herself, “and interfered in a way that must have seemed rather extraordinary to you. But I simply couldn’t help it. I noticed you before you got into the train, and I saw you were troubled and nervous. I noticed the—oh, well, the gentleman arrive at the last moment and get on board after glaring about him. And as I happened to be just next door to you, and in a seat next the corridor, I observed him prowling along, ever so often, and taking stock of your compartment. And every time he appeared, I admired him less—I hardly know why. And the last time he came I saw him grin. And when he entered your compartment I tried calling myself a fool, and telling myself it was none of my business, but I couldn’t rest, and after a little while I took the chance of putting my foot in it dreadfully—and you know the rest. Feeling better now?” “Oh, yes, thank you,” Kitty answered, turning her attention from her eyes to her pretty hair. “But you were so cool!” “I suppose I was. Once I’ve made up my mind to do a thing, I get that way. Besides, I’m never afraid of a man!” “Never afraid of a man!” cried Kitty in tones of such amazement that her new friend checked a laugh. “No; because, you see, a man in his soul is always afraid of a woman. It’s a useful thing to remember, Miss Carstairs.” “But—but do you—hate men?”