“But you see it is,” said Helena’s low voice.  “We are confident of that ourselves, for the journey has seemed a long one, under two smothering veils.  And we hadn’t the easiest time finding you.”

Brown recovered himself.  “You didn’t motor over this time, then?”

“The last time we were here,” Mrs. Brainard reminded him, “you told us quite frankly that you didn’t care to have your friends arrive in limousines, or in velvet and sables.  So—­we have left both behind.”

“I see you have.  It was wonderfully kind of you, though the disguise is by no means a perfect one.  I wonder if you can possibly think, either of you, that you looked like the rest of my audience!”

“Did you know us when we came in?” questioned Mrs. Brainard, with a merry glance.  “I think you did not, Mr. Donald Brown!”

“How long have you been here?”

“We must have come in near the beginning of your talk.  You didn’t even see us then, did you?”

“I saw two figures which looked strange to me—­but—­the lights—­”

“Oh, yes,” agreed the lady, gayly, “the lights were poor.  And you saw two working-women who were merely strangers to you, so you didn’t look again.”

“I’m glad I didn’t recognize you.”

“Why?  We rather hoped you would—­didn’t we, dear?”

She looked at her companion, who nodded, smiling.

“We both hoped and feared, I think,” Helena said.

“I couldn’t have gone stumbling on,” Brown explained.  “I should have had to dismiss the meeting, telling them I had a rush of blood to the head—­or to the heart!”

At this moment he was helped out by the abrupt opening of the door beside him.  A grimy-faced janitor looked in, wearing an expression of surly dissatisfaction.  When he saw Brown the expression softened slightly, as if he knew a friend when he beheld him, but he did not withdraw.  Brown rallied his absorbed faculties to appreciate what late hours meant to that busy janitor.

“Just leaving, Mr. Simpson,” he said cheerfully, and led his visitors out into the school’s anteroom.

“Are you at a hotel?” he asked, with eagerness, of Mrs. Brainard.  “How can I—­where can I—­”

“We ran away,” explained that lady promptly.  “Not a soul knows where we are.  We did not register at a hotel, for this is a secret expedition.  We take the eleven-fifteen train back.  Meanwhile, Don, am I not an acceptable chaperon?  And won’t my presence make it entirely proper for us to break a bit of bread with you in your bachelor home?  We had only afternoon tea before we left.  We are very hungry—­or I am!”

“Oh, if you will only do that!” he said with an inflection of great pleasure.  “I shall be so tremendously honoured I shall hardly know how to express it.  I hope I have something for you fit to eat.  If I haven’t—­”

“Bacon and eggs,” said Mrs. Brainard, with twinkling eyes, “are what your sister Sue insists you live on.  Never in my life did I have such a longing for bacon and eggs!”