Barely in time did he check the natural rejoinder, “So are your friends, the bridal couples,” for he bethought himself that, if she knew, she would doubtless escape from the train at the first station and this astounding and priceless adventure would be abruptly terminated. Instead he said: “May I take you over with me? I’m having a car at Laconia.” “Mr. Harmon is having me met at Weirs. Weirs is miles nearer.” “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving me a lift with you. I’m for the Bungalow, wherever that is.” “And I’m for the Farmhouse, and the chaperonage of Mrs. Bond. So it isn’t as terribly compromising as it sounds, is it? Though what in the world Mr. Harmon would think, if this ever got to his ears—” “It won’t. In any case, Harmon is not a thinker of evil.” Nevertheless the girl saw trouble in his eyes. Partly it was her innocence, partly the bravado to which the emergency of the day had strung her, which kept that same trouble out of her own eyes. With him it attained speech. “How old are you?” Across his shoulder Darcy’s eye caught a number on the paneled side of the car. “Twenty-six,” she lied promptly. He was taken aback. “Really!” he murmured. “I should have said—aw—much’ younger. Are you sure you appreciate the possible—well—er—misconstructions to which this visit might give rise?” “I don’t see why it should,” returned Darcy stoutly. “Anyway, I’ve no other place to go.” “But I could put off my trip.” “That would be a nuisance to you, wouldn’t it?” “To be quite frank, it would be rather more than that. I should risk getting caught.” “Caught?” echoed Darcy interestedly. “It sounds thrilling. Are you a fugitive from justice?” “No. I’m a fugitive from injustice. See here, Miss Romancia, I’m something of a faker myself. Being up against it _good_, I’m going to ’fess up. “‘Faker’? ‘Up against it’? Why—why, where’s your English accent gone?” “Cut out. Pretty soon I’m going to do the same with these whiskers. They tickle.” So many surprises had been forced upon Darcy that, inured to them, she was able to sustain this one unperturbed. “It’s a wonderful disguise,” she approved. “And you play the part beautifully. But, if the question isn’t indiscreet, why?” “As I indicated, I’m flying for my life.” “Then I hope it’s something thrilling like murder or arson, and not something petty like bigamy or fancy finance.” “Nothing as interesting as crime. I’m wanted as a witness in a will case. They’re trying to catch me and put me on the stand and make me testify that my great-uncle was a crafty and vicious old lunatic.” “When he wasn’t? How horrid!” “When he was. That’s horrider. And that others of my relatives were _roués_ and scandalmongers and drunkards.” “I seem to have eloped into a nice cheerful sort of family,” observed the girl.