“In the dining-car, if we have one. Uncle Somerville lets us dodge the Rosemary's cook whenever we can,” was the answer; and with this bit of information Adams went his way to the Denver sleeper.
Finding Winton in his section, poring over a blue-print map and making notes thereon after the manner of a man hard at work, Adams turned back to the smoking-compartment.
Now for Mr. Morton P. Adams the salt of life was a joke, harmless or otherwise, as the tree might fall. So, during the long afternoon which he wore out in solitude, there grew up in him a keen desire to see what would befall if these two whom he had so grotesquely misrepresented each to the other should come together in the pathway of acquaintanceship.
But how to bring them together was a problem which refused to be solved until chance pointed the way. Since the Limited had lost another hour during the day there was a rush for the dining-car as soon as the announcement of its taking-on had gone through the train. Adams and Winton were of this rush, and so were the members of Mr. Somerville Darrah's party. In the seating the party was separated, as room at the crowded tables could be found; and Miss Virginia's fate gave her the unoccupied seat at one of the duet tables, opposite a young man with steadfast gray eyes and a firm jaw.
Winton was equal to the emergency, or thought he was. Adams was still within call and he beckoned him, meaning to propose an exchange of seats. But the Bostonian misunderstood wilfully.
“Most happy, I'm sure,” he said, coming instantly to the rescue. “Miss Carteret, my friend signals his dilemma. May I present him?”
Virginia smiled and gave the required permission in a word. But for Winton self-possession fled shrieking.
“Ah—er—I hope you know Mr. Adams well enough to make allowances for his—for his—” He broke down helplessly and she had to come to his assistance.
“For his imagination?” she suggested. “I do, indeed; we are quite old friends.”
Here was “well enough,” but Winton was a man and could not let it alone.