The young woman turned away and marched scornfully toward the far end of the platform. It was revealed to Mr. Burrow that if all women could walk like that, and take punishment like that, there would be no room in the world for woman-haters. His objections to marriage could not apply to a union with a deity! He turned and went over very humbly. “Miss Asheton——” he began. The girl wheeled with her chin in the air and an angry gleam flashed through the mortified tearfulness of her eyes. “Will you kindly go away?” she said in a peremptory voice. “I want to think.” Mr. Burrow skulked back, crestfallen. He sat dismally on the step of his automobile and fanned himself with his cap. He was very busy hating himself. Afterward she came over, walking very straight, and halted rigidly before him. “Will you be good enough to take me to a telephone?” she asked. Mr. Burrow rose with a new alacrity and put out his hand to assist her. She drew carefully away from his touch and opened the tonneau door for herself. Into Mr. Burrow’s self-hatred crept a note of self-pity. “Won’t you—won’t you sit in front?” he timidly suggested. “It will be easier to talk.” “It’s not necessary to talk,” the young lady informed him. The run to the telephone exchange was made in heavy and depressing silence. “Can’t get Mercerville any more before to-morrow,” enlightened the operator briefly. “Line’s in trouble—somethin’s just busted.” “Any trains out to-night?” demanded Mr. Burrow. “All out. Long way out. Nothin’ doin’ until ten-thirty to-morrow mornin’.” Mr. Burrow thought it inconceivably strange that any one could be facetious at such a time. “Where’s the telegraph operator?” he inquired coldly. “Gone to the country. Office closed till to-morrow.” “I suppose there is some sort of hotel,” suggested the even voice of the girl at his elbow. “If you will take me there I sha’n’t trouble you any farther.” “But—but——” began Mr. Burrow, then he began again. “But—but——” The girl threw up her head. She even managed to laugh a little. “Yes?” she questioned sweetly. “You’ve said that four times.” “But—but——” stammered Mr. Burrow again. The Hon. Alexander was usually regarded as a loquacious man. “I suppose some day—when I get the perspective on it, it will all be rather humorous,” mused Miss Asheton. “It would make a good farce, wouldn’t it? Only now it doesn’t seem exactly funny.” * * * * * Mr. Burrow gave up the problem of articulation. He raised the hood of the car and adjusted something. When he came back he appeared to have regained the power of speech. “Wait a minute,” he said. His hands were greasy, so he procured a bunch of waste from the tool-box and carefully wiped each digit. Having accomplished this task to his satisfaction, he boldly returned and thrust his right out to Miss Asheton.