“I am sorry to have troubled you.”

She had resumed her seat, and, to him, there seemed a thousand miles between them.  Feeling decidedly uncomfortable and not a little abashed, he left her and strode to the door.  Again a mirror gave him a thrill.  This time it was the glass in the car’s end.  He had taken but a half dozen steps when the brown head was turned slyly and a pair of interested eyes looked after him.  She did not know that he could see her, so he had the satisfaction of observing that pretty, puzzled face plainly until he passed through the door.

Grenfall had formed many chance acquaintances during his travels, sometimes taking risks and liberties that were refreshingly bold.  He had seldom been repulsed, strange to say, and as he went to his section dizzily, he thought of the good fortune that had been his in other attempts, and asked himself why it had not occurred to him to make the same advances in the present instance.  Somehow she was different.  There was that strange dignity, that pure beauty, that imperial manner, all combining to forbid the faintest thought of familiarity.

He was more than astonished at himself for having tricked her a few moments before into a perfectly natural departure from indifference.  She had been so reserved and so natural that he looked back and asked himself what had happened to flatter his vanity except a passing show of interest.  With this, he smiled and recalled similar opportunities in days gone by, all of which had been turned to advantage and had resulted in amusing pastimes.  And here was a pretty girl with an air of mystery about her, worthy of his best efforts, but toward whom he had not dared to turn a frivolous eye.

He took out the coin and leaned back in his chair, wondering where it came from.  “In any case,” he thought, “it’ll make a good pocket-piece and some day I’ll find some idiot who knows more about geography than I do.”  Mr. Lorry’s own ideas of geography were jumbled and vague—­as if he had got them by studying the labels on his hat-box.  He knew the places he had been to, and he recognized a new country by the annoyances of the customs house, but beyond this his ignorance was complete.  The coin, so far as he knew, might have come from any one of a hundred small principalities scattered about the continent.  Yet it bothered him a little that he could not tell which one.  He was more than curious about a very beautiful young woman—­in fact, he was, undeniably interested in her.  He pleasantly called himself an “ass” to have his head turned by a pretty face, a foreign accent and an insignificant coin, and yet he was fascinated.

Before the train reached St. Louis he made up his mind to change cars there and go to Washington with her.  It also occurred to him that he might go on to New York if the spell lasted.  During the day he telegraphed ahead for accommodations; and when the flyer arrived in St. Louis that evening he hurriedly attended to the transferring and rechecking of his baggage, bought a new ticket, and dined.  At eight he was in the station, and at 8:15 he passed her in the aisle.  She was standing in her stateroom door, directing her maid.  He saw a look of surprise flit across her face as he passed.  He slept soundly that night, and dreamed that he was crossing the ocean with her.