Dalton glanced down at her, and his lips twitched a little at the corners.
"For the present, I fear. Luncheon comes next, doesn't it? I had hoped—but I heard you accept Mr. Barrington's invitation to his house."
"Yes," absently. "Then I won't see you again?"
"What train did you think of taking for home?"
"I want to take the 5.13, if I can make it, but may have to wait for the 6.05. Which do you take?"
"I'll be there for the 5.13."
"All right!" cheerfully. "I'll try and be there. It's so much pleasanter to have company. Is this my car?"
He helped her on, and stepped back to await his own, going to another part of the city.
"Poor little thing!" he thought. "How the contact with crime sickens her. I can always see it. Yet she will not swerve from her good work, though she might sit lapped in luxury. They say those soldiers who sicken and tremble when going into the fight often make the bravest heroes. She is the pluckiest little fighter I ever saw, but it is herself she conquers—and me!"