Their cicerone led the way to “the ole boat,” a large, battered, comfortably purring car, tucked them in with many robes, and applied himself to the wheel with an absorption which left them free to resume their own concerns. The surrounding mountains were in full panoply of their blazing October foliage, a scene to enthrall the dullest vision. Notwithstanding, Mr. Remsen’s eyes kept straying from those splendors to the face of his companion. Attractive though this nearer view was, his own face wore the expression of one who painfully seeks the answer to an insoluble riddle. The girl answered his look with challenging mockery. “Don’t overheat your poor brain about it,” she implored. “He called you Miss Cole,” said Remsen, with furrowed brows. “Why not, since it’s my name?” “Cole? Cole!” ruminated her companion. “No. Positively no!” “Positively, yes! Do you think it’s quite gallant in you to forget me entirely.” “First you say I’m your husband,” complained Remsen, “and now you claim acquaintance with me. It isn’t fair. It muddles one’s brain.” “Look at me hard.” “I’ve been doing that all day.” “But it doesn’t seem to have any result Haven’t you ever seen me before?” “Certainly.” Darcy almost jumped. “Which time? I mean, where?” “On the northeast corner of Fifth Avenue and Fiftieth Street, at 2.30 p.m. September 11th,” returned the other, as one who recites a well-conned lesson. “You were looking up at an aeroplane and ran into me. You wore a black-and-white checked suit and a most awfully smart little hat, and I stood there gawking after you until I was in danger of being arrested for obstructing the traffic.” “Why?” “Frankly, because I hadn’t seen anything quite like you since I landed, and I wanted to make the most of a poor opportunity.” “Then why didn’t you lift your hat politely and say, ‘How do you do, Miss Cole?’ Like that.” “Because, by Heavens!” cried the badgered Remsen, “I don’t know any Miss Cole.” “Think again,” adjured Darcy. “There was a blowy, windy day on a Fifth Avenue coach when you got off to help a woman with a suitcase—” “Full of burglar’s tools or solid gold ingots, I don’t know which. Never thought a suitcase could weigh so much!” “Poor Mr. Remsen!” laughed the girl, but her eyes were soft as she turned them to him. “You must have been terribly bored. But you were game. You didn’t see me on the coach?” “I didn’t notice any one but the two working-girls with the suitcase. Do you think I could have seen you and forgotten you?” “Be careful! You’re only making it worse. One of the two working-girls called after you to thank you, didn’t she?” Remsen fell suddenly thoughtful. “Now I recall, the voice did seem familiar. But—surely—” “Perhaps this will help.” She hummed softly a passage of the lulling, lilting song which she had heard from his lips on that memorable day of her great resolve.