"And the other thing?"
"The other thing? I can't tell you that!"—hurriedly.
"Ah, I believe I know. You have left some sweetheart back in America." All her interest In his narrative took a strange and unaccountable slump.
"No; I have often admired women, but I have left no sweetheart back in America. If I had I should now feel very uncomfortable."
Somehow she couldn't meet his eyes. She recognized, with vague anger, that she was glad that he had no sweetheart. Ah, well, nobody could rob her of her right to dream, and this was a very pleasant dream.
"The train is slowing down," he said suddenly.
"We are approaching the frontier." She shaded her eyes and searched the speeding blackness outside.
"How far is it to the capital?" he asked.
"It lies two miles beyond the frontier."
Silence fell upon them, and at length the train stopped with a jerk. In what seemed to them an incredibly short time a guard unlocked the door.