“Well! how do we know how a heroine feels?” Nan asked, exasperated.
“Oh, Nan!”
“One thing I am sure of,” went on Nan Sherwood, rather wildly. “She doesn’t want a memorial—or a medal—or a purse——”
“Perhaps she’s poor,” put in Bess, obstinately.
“She’s not!”
“Why—do you know who she is?” gasped Bess.
Nan was silent. She saw she had gone too far. If Bess should suspect——
The door at the rear of the car banged open. The conductor, leading a committee of passengers from the other coach, entered. He was smiling and the ladies and gentlemen with him were smiling, too. When their gaze fell upon Nan they marched directly toward her.
Nan got up. She looked all about for some means of escape. Behind her, coming down the aisle, were several other people headed by Professor Krenner. And with them came the haughty girl, Linda Riggs.
“Oh! what’s the matter?” cried Bess, starting up, too.