"Better call me Tom,—for the present at least," he suggested, sitting down beside her on the trunk.
"What a strange coincidence," she murmured. There was not much room on the trunk for two. He sat quite on one end of it.
"You mean,—sitting there?" he inquired, blankly.
"No. Your turning up as you did,—out of a clear sky."
"I shouldn't call it clear," said he, suddenly diffident. "Thick as a blanket."
"It was queer, though, wasn't it?"
"Not a bit. I've been walking up and down past this house for twenty minutes at least. We were bound to meet. Sit still. I'll keep an eye out for an empty taxi. The first thing to do is to see that you get safely down to Mrs. Sparflight's."
"How did you know I was to go there?" she demanded.
"She told me," said he bluntly.
"She wasn't to tell any one—at present." She peered closely,—at the side of his face.