"It seems to me," said Stewart, as he proceeded to obey, "that one pair of slippers and one pair of stockings is rather scanty baggage for a lady who has been at Spa for a month." "My baggage went direct from Spa to Brussels," she answered from before the mirror, "in order to avoid the customs examination at the frontier. Have you any other questions?" "Only the big one as to who you really are, and where I'm going to see you again after you have delivered your report—and all that." His back was toward her as he bent over his bags, and he did not see the quick glance she cast at him. "It is impossible to discuss that now," she said, hastily. "And I would warn you that the servant, Hans, is a spy. Be very careful before him—be careful always, until we are safe across the frontier. There will be spies everywhere—a false word, a false movement, and all may be lost. Are you ready?" Stewart, rising from buckling the last strap, found himself confronting the most adorable girl he had ever seen. Every trace of the journey had disappeared. Her cheeks were glowing, her eyes were shining, and when she smiled, Stewart noticed a dimple set diagonally at the corner of her mouth—a dimple evidently placed just there to invite and challenge kisses. The admiration which flamed into his eyes was perhaps a trifle too ardent, for, looking at him steadily, she took a quick step toward him. "We are going to be good friends, are we not?" she asked. "Good comrades?" And Stewart, looking down at her, understood. She was pleading for respect; she was telling him that she trusted him; she was reminding him of the defenselessness of her girlhood, driven by hard necessity into this strange adventure. And, understanding, he reached out and caught her hand. "Yes," he agreed. "Good comrades. Just that!" She gave his fingers a swift pressure. "Thank you," she said. "Now we must go down. Dinner will be waiting. Fortunately the train is very late." Stewart, glancing at his watch, saw that it was almost six o'clock.
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