"Not a word, either in writing or in any other way. I asked the hotel people about her, but they knew nothing in particular. She had not told anything about herself. She had come, and, after two or three days, had gone. She had gone only the day before I got back."
"And you, of course, must have started after her all the way back to England, and that's the reason why you are here—"
"Yes," said Harry: "the only hope I had was to overtake the train that preceded me. It was not impossible that it might be delayed, and that my train should come up with hers. That was my only hope, but of course all this is now up."
"Oh, well," said Katie, in a consoling tone, "you'll see her again before long, and you can explain it all; and when she finds out that it all arose from an excess of zeal, she will see that your fault was one on the right side, and she will love you all the better. And so you will both have many and many a laugh over this queer misadventure; and it will be something that will give flavor and spice to all your future life. Why, I'd give anything to have just such an adventure—I would, really. I wish I was in Miss Talbot's place. I quite envy her—I do, really; that is," she added, with a little confusion, "her adventure, you know."
"You have such a nice way of putting things," said Harry, "that I wish I could always have you to go to for sympathy."
"Sympathy?" said Katie. "Oh, you know that's quite my forte."
Harry looked into her clear, sunny eyes as they were raised to his, full of brightness, and archness, and joyousness.
"And won't you let me call you 'Katie,'" said he, "just while we're travelling together? I feel so awfully well acquainted with you, you know; and I've told you all about my affairs, you know, just as if you were my oldest friend."
"I should like it above all things," said Katie. "I hate to be called Miss Westlotorn by my friends. It's too formal."
"And you must call me 'Harry,'" said this volatile young man. "You will, now, won't you?" he added, in a coaxing tone.