“Oh, McGuire is a common Irish name, you know. But was it your name, as well? Is your name Kate?”
She smiled and nodded.
“Then my friends were innocent, for I’m sure they did not know it, or they never would have sung that song. It must have seemed awfully rude to you.”
“On the contrary, I thought it extremely clever, and flattered myself that I had been the inspiration, or part of it, at least. Anyway, you’ll send me the song, won’t you?”
“With pleasure,” and he wrote her name and waited for the address.
“Just Gloucester—everybody knows us—or papa, at least.”
“Thank you,” said the conductor, closing his book.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saving the life of a poor girl and bringing her back to her papa, like a good bear, when you might have carried her away to the hills.”