"It's the same name," she heard the conductor say in an undertone. "I'll wire back to headquarters at the next stop."
If ever retribution followed an erring soul, it followed Miss Lucinda on that trip. No one spoke to her, and nothing happened, but she sat in terrified suspense, looking neither to right nor left, her heart beating frantically at every approach, and the whirring wheels repeating the questioning refrain, "Dora Luring? Dura Loring? Lura Doring?"
In New York, Floss met her as she stepped off the train, fairly enveloping her in her enthusiasm.
"Here you are, you old darling! I have been having a fit a minute for fear you wouldn't come. This is my Cousin May. She is going to stay with us the whole week. New York is simply heavenly, Miss Lucy. We have made four engagements already. Matinée this afternoon, a dinner to-night—What's the matter? Did you leave anything on the train?"
"No, no," stammered Miss Lucinda, still casting furtive glances backward at the conductor. "Was he talking to a policeman?" she asked suspiciously.
"Who?"
"The conductor."
The girls laughed.
"I don't wonder you were scared," said Floss; "a policeman always does remind me of Miss Joe Hill."
They called a cab and, to Miss Lucinda's vast relief, were soon rolling away from the scene of danger.