"Where—where—" she hesitated, "is your station?"
"That," smiled Curlie, "is a state secret; very few know where it is."
"Oh!" she breathed. "A mystery?"
Curlie nodded.
"Something like that."
"I love mysteries," she whispered. "I love to unravel them. Some day I shall surprise you. I shall come walking into that secret room of yours." There was a look on her face that he had not seen there before. It was disturbing. It spoke of a quality which, he concluded, she had inherited from her father, the quality of firmness and determination, which had made him great.
"I—I'd rather you wouldn't try," he almost stammered.
"Oh! here we are," she exclaimed, "at the library."
Leaping out of the car she led the way up the broad steps of an imposing gray stone structure.
"Down this way," she whispered, as if awed by the vast fund of knowledge stowed away between those walls. Without further words they made their way within.