“What do you mean?  It is—­May I ask why you are here, Miss Courtenay?  It is most extraordinary.”

“It is very easily explained,” said Miss Courtenay, after a moment’s battle with veracity.  “My aunt is very ill in Vancouver.”  To herself she was saying:  “I must keep her from really seeing Harry.  She knows what he has done—­in heaven’s name, how could she have found it out?—­ and she is waiting to catch us if she can.  She has followed us!  Thank goodness, I’ve seen her first.”

Eleanor was not blessed with the possibility of such an explanation for Anne’s presence; she could only believe that the governess had been suddenly called to the bedside of her aunt—­a real person, she happened to know, and very rich.  But how was she to account for her own astonishing departure from home?  Miss Courtenay had seen her at dinner; nothing had been said regarding “an unexpected journey.”  In truth, Eleanor remembered with inflexible accuracy that she had announced her intention to go to bed with a headache.  Then, what must Miss Courtenay be thinking at this very instant?

An inspiration came to her like a flash.  “I—­I am running away, Miss Courtenay,” she cried, with a brave attempt to appear naive.

“I don’t understand,” murmured poor Anne.

“Of course you don’t,” said Eleanor, inspiration heaping itself up within her.  “Not really, you know, but just for a few days’ rest.  Mother thinks I’m looking wretchedly.  We didn’t say anything about it--except to Mr. Windomshire, of course.  He knows.  Perhaps he will run up to Omegon in a day or two to see me.  It’s very quiet there, and I’ll get a good rest.  The hotel is delightful—­facing the lake.  And the bathing’s good.  Dear me, I’m so sorry about your aunt.”  Miss Courtenay’s eyes actually blinked with perplexity.  This was a most staggering bit of news.  Eleanor flushed painfully under the gaze of the other; utter rout followed.  She stammered some flimsy excuse and dashed back into the car.  To herself she was crying:  “I must find Joe and tell him to keep out of sight.  Oh, how awful this is!”

Just inside the door she met her porter.

“There’s nobody named Dauntless on the train, miss.  A gentleman who said he was his friend thinks he missed the train perhaps.”

“He—­he—­oh, I see!” said Eleanor, suddenly perceiving method in Joe’s reluctance to answer to his own name.  “Thank you.  That’s all.”  Then, to herself:  “He has seen Miss Courtenay, and she hasn’t seen him,—­ that’s plain.”  She handed the porter a coin.

“I went to the berth you mentioned, ma’am, and I asked through the curtains:  ‘Is Mr. Dauntless in here?’ There was a lady in the upper, miss, an’—­an’—­well, I’ll never forget what she said to me.”  Eleanor had gone before he concluded, determined to unearth her cautious lover, if possible.

Anne caught the porter before he could follow.

“See here, porter,” she whispered softly, “go to Car 5, section 6, and call its occupant.  Tell him not to get up.  Do you understand?  Not to get up!”