“My father?” the girl stopped him with a sort of a frowning perplexity in the stare she gave him.  “My father isn’t here!”

“I beg your pardon,” Lanfear said.  “I must have misunderstood.  A gentleman who got out of the train with you—­a short, stout gentleman with gray hair—­I understood him to say you were his daughter—­requested me to bring this message—­”

The girl shook her head.  “I don’t know him.  It must be a mistake.”

“The mistake is mine, no doubt.  It may have been some one else whom he pointed out, and I have blundered.  I’m very sorry if I seem to have intruded—­”

“What place is this?” the girl asked, without noticing his excuses.

“San Remo,” Lanfear answered.  “If you didn’t intend to stop here, your train will be leaving in a moment.”

“I meant to get off, I suppose,” she said.  “I don’t believe I’m going any farther.”  She leaned back against the bars of the bench, and put up one of her slim arms along the top.

There was something wrong.  Lanfear now felt that, in spite of her perfect tranquillity and self-possession; perhaps because of it.  He had no business to stay there talking with her, but he had not quite the right to leave her, though practically he had got his dismissal, and apparently she was quite capable of taking care of herself, or could have been so in a country where any woman’s defencelessness was not any man’s advantage.  He could not go away without some effort to be of use.

“I beg your pardon,” he said.  “Can I help you in calling a carriage; or looking after your hand-baggage—­it will be getting dark—­perhaps your maid—­”

“My maid!” The girl frowned again, with a measure of the amazement which she showed when he mentioned her father. “I have no maid!”

Lanfear blurted desperately out:  “You are alone?  You came—­you are going to stay here—­alone?”

“Quite alone,” she said, with a passivity in which there was no resentment, and no feeling unless it were a certain color of dignity.  Almost at the same time, with a glance beside and beyond him, she called out joyfully:  “Ah, there you are!” and Lanfear turned, and saw scuffling and heard puffing towards them the short, stout elderly gentleman who had sent him to her.  “I knew you would come before long!”

“Well, I thought it was pretty long, myself,” the gentleman said, and then he courteously referred himself to Lanfear.  “I’m afraid this gentleman has found it rather long, too; but I couldn’t manage it a moment sooner.”

Lanfear said:  “Not at all.  I wish I could have been of any use to—­”

“My daughter—­Miss Gerald, Mr.—­”

“Lanfear—­Dr. Lanfear,” he said, accepting the introduction; and the girl bowed.

“Oh, doctor, eh?” the father said, with a certain impression.  “Going to stop here?”

“A few days,” Lanfear answered, making way for the forward movement which the others began.