“Well,” she said under her breath, “I’m all through. They gave me a jewel of a man. And you?” “I’ve had no trouble.” George spoke with nonchalance as if to imply that he had expected none. Out of the corner of his eye he was following the actions of the custom-house official allotted to him who was chalking his examined trunks with the hieroglyphics which signified that the Government had released its grip on them. This done, George beckoned to an attendant porter, after which he turned again to Miss Golightly. “If you’ll wait a moment until I see these things of mine safely in the hands of the transfer express, I’ll put you into your carriage and take a fond farewell.” “You needn’t hurry,” was her answer. “My friend, Miss Pilgrim, has declared thirty-four articles, and she doesn’t know in which of her eight trunks any of them are. She and the citizen in glasses meted out to her, who insists on finding every one, are now engaged in ransacking her entire wardrobe. I intend to keep at a safe distance from the scene of worry. That’s what comes of being conscientious.” George and the inspector, preceded by the porter wheeling the traveller’s three trunks, hat-box, and small bags, set out for the other end of the shed. George returned ten minutes later; he stepped briskly and was beaming. “Still waiting, I see,” he said jocularly. “And in your eyes I read the purple light of love, young man. I wish you success.” Her words were the rallying outcome of confidences on shipboard after five days at sea. George blushed, but looked pleased. “You may see her first,” he said, “for she is constantly at her cousin’s, or was before she took up Settlement life.” “How much did you give him?” asked Miss Golightly. The reversion to their previous topic was so abrupt and barefaced that the lover stared for a moment, then tried not to appear confused. “Oh, a mere trifle!” he said with offhand dignity. “I gave mine twenty-five dollars,” she whispered. “Wasn’t that enough?” “Abundant, I should say. But I am not well posted on such matters.” It was evident he wished to avoid the subject, and was also impatient to get away, for he took out his watch. “If Miss Pilgrim is really likely to be detained--” he began. Miss Golightly rose to the occasion and dismissed him. “I understand,” she exclaimed amiably. “Every minute is precious.” Nevertheless, it was not until two days later that he succeeded in finding Mary Wellington at home. He called that evening, but was told by the person in charge that she had taken a brief respite from work and would not return for another twenty-four hours. On the second occasion, as the first, he brought with him under his arm a good-sized package, neatly done up. “I am back again,” he said, and he pressed her hand with unmistakable zeal.