He lifted her into his trap and got in beside her, telling the groom to drive on, and wondering very much. Dorothy gave a great sigh and began to feel better.
"I think it is because I had no breakfast," she said. "Perhaps I am dying of hunger."
The gentleman smiled, and searched his pockets. After a time he found some milk chocolate. Dorothy would rather have had water, but he made her eat a little. Then he took off her hat and gloves, and with a cool, soft handkerchief pushed back the hair that was clinging about her damp forehead and carefully wiped her face.
"You'll feel better now," he said, fanning her with her hat, and putting it on again, as if he had never done anything but dress little girls in his life.
Dorothy smiled with a great sigh of relief, and the gentleman smiled too. "Now tell us all about it," he said in a friendly way. "Where do you live, and where are you going?"
When Dorothy told him he looked very much surprised, and at the same time interested, and before she knew what she was about, he had drawn from her the whole story, and the more she told him the more surprised and interested he became.
"What was the name of the friend who failed your father?" he said at last, but Dorothy could not remember.
"Was it Pemberton?" he suggested.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Pemberton," said Dorothy. "At least, Dick said so."
"You don't happen to be Addiscombe Graham's little daughter," he said with a queer look, "do you?"