And so it came to pass as the train started that the baggageman, who happened to be standing in the doorway, was somewhat startled to see a small figure come racing toward it out of the dusk and land sprawling on the floor beside him. "A girl tramp!" he ejaculated in amazement and disgust, and then, as he helped her to her feet, "Don't you know you're breaking the law?" She laughed. "From the feelings, I thought it was something else." She sobered and turned on him fiercely. "I want ye to understand I've paid my fare on the train out, which entitled me to one continuous passage--_with my trunk_. Well, I'm returning--_as my trunk_, I'll take up no more room and I'll ask no more privileges." "That may sound sensible, but it's not law," and the man grinned broadly. "I'm sorry, miss, but off you go at the next station." "All right," agreed Patsy; "only please don't argue. Sure, I'm sick entirely of arguing." She dropped down on a trunk and buried her face in her hands. The baggageman watched her, hypnotized with curiosity and wonder. At the next station he helped her to drop through the opening she had entered, and called a shamefaced "good-by" after her in the dusk. She hunted up the station-agent and received scanty encouragement: Very likely he had seen such a man; there were many of that description getting off every day. They generally went to the Inn--Brambleside Inn. The season was just open and society people were beginning to come. No, there was no conveyance. The Inn's 'buses did not meet any train after the six-thirty from town, unless ordered especially by guests. Was she expected? Patsy was about to shake her head when a roadster swung around the corner of the station and came to a dead stop in front of where she and the station-master were standing. The driver peered at her through his goggles in a questioning, hesitating manner. "Is this--are you Miss St. Regis?" he finally asked. "Miriam St. Regis?" Patsy intended it for a question, realizing even as she spoke the absurdity of inquiring the name of an English actress at such a place. But the driver took it for a statement of identity. "Yes, of course, Miss Miriam St. Regis. Mr. Blake made a mistake and thought because your box came from town you'd be coming that way. It wasn't until your manager, Mr. Travis, telephoned half an hour ago that he realized you'd be on that southbound train. Awfully sorry to have kept you waiting. Step right in, please." Whereupon the driver removed himself from the roadster, assisted her to a seat, covered her with a rug--for early June evenings can be rather sharp--and the next moment Patsy found herself tearing down a stretch of country road with the purr of a motor as music to her ears. "Sure, I don't know who wrote the play and starred me in it," she mused, dreamily, "but he certainly knows how to handle situations."