"I am," replied Grace. "I could cry with sheer vexation." Then she briefly recounted what had occurred.
"What a crusty old man," sympathized Miriam. "It would serve him right if he did lose his old watch. Where are they sitting?"
"Down the aisle on the other side at the end," directed Grace.
Miriam turned around in her seat. "He looks capable of most anything," she remarked after a prolonged stare at the stranger, who was apparently absorbed in his paper. "Are you sure, however, that you were not mistaken, Grace? You can't always judge a man by his looks."
"You can this man," asserted Grace. "He is a polite villain of the deepest dye, and I know it."
It was after eleven o'clock when the train pulled into Oakdale. Mrs. Gibson's chauffeur awaited them with the big touring car, in which there was ample room for all of them.
"Keep a sharp lookout for that man," whispered Grace to Miriam. "I want to see if Oakdale is his destination."
The two girls lagged behind the others, eagerly scanning the platform.
"I think he must have gone on," said Miriam. "I don't see him. Don't worry any more about him, Grace."
Then she walked on ahead.