"I'm afraid Jimsy rather ran amuck, in the bitterness of it all. His father took it very hard, in spite of my explanations to him, and wrote the boy a harsh letter; that started things, I fancy. That's when I cabled you. Carter telephoned his mother from the station here as they went through--they were on that special from San Francisco to Mexico City--and she told your mother that Jimsy was pretty well shot to pieces and that Carter didn't dare leave him alone." "Didn't he write me?" "He may have, of course, T. S., but there's nothing here for you. Mrs. Van Meter told Carter that I had cabled for you, so Jimsy knows." "Yes." She stood still, her hat and cloak on, deliberating. "Do the trains go to Mexico every day, Stepper?" "Why, yes, I believe they do, but you needn't wait to write, T. S. You can telegraph, and let----" "I didn't mean about writing," said Honor, quietly. "I meant about going. Will you see if I can leave to-day, Stepper? Then I won't unpack at all, you see, and that will save time." "Top Step, I know what this means to you, but--your mother.... Do you think you'd better?" "I am going to Mexico," said Honor. "I am going to Jimsy." "I'll find out about trains and reservations," said her stepfather. CHAPTER X For a few moments it moved and concerned Honor to see that she was the cause of the first serious quarrel between her mother and her stepfather. She was shocked to see her mother's wild weeping and Stephen Lorimer's grim jaw and to hear the words between them, but nothing could really count with her in those hours. She took her mother in her arms and kissed her and spoke to her as she had to her little brothers in the years gone by, when they were hurt or sorry. "There, there, Muzzie _dear_! You can't help it. You must just stop caring so. It isn't your fault." "People will think--people will say----" sobbed Mildred Lorimer. "No one will blame you, dear. Every one knows what a trial I've always been to you." "You have, Honor! You have! You've never been a comfort to me--not since you were a tiny child. And even then you were tomboyish and rough and queer." "I know, Muzzie." "I never heard of anything so brazen in all my life--running after him to Mexico--to visit people you never laid eyes on in all your days, utter strangers to you----" "Jimsy's aunt and uncle, Muzzie." "Utter strangers to _you_, forcing yourself upon them, without even telegraphing to know if they can have you----" "No. I don't want Jimsy to know I'm coming." "Where's your pride, Honor Carmody? When he's done such dreadful things and got himself expelled from college--a young man never lives _that_ down as long as he lives!--and gone the way of all the 'Wild Kings,' and hasn't even written to you! That's the thing I can't understand--your running after him when he's dropped you--gone without a word or a line to you." "He may have written, Muzzie. Letters are lost, you know, sometimes."