She hesitated, then told the truth. “I’m running away——”

He was eager. “May I help?”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t if you knew.”

“Try me.”

He helped her into his car, tucked the rug about her, and put up the curtains. “No one can see you on the back seat,” he said, and drove to Georgetown on the wings of the wind.

He brought coffee out to her from a neat shop where milk was sold, and buns, and hot drinks, to motormen and conductors. It was a clean little[29] place, fresh as paint, and the buttered rolls were brown and crisp.

[29]

“I never tasted anything so good,” the runaway told Baldy. “And now I am going to ask you to drive me over the Virginia side—I’ll get the trolley there.”

When at last he drew up at a little way station, and unfastened the curtain, he was aware that she had opened the suede bag and had a roll of bills in her hand. For a moment his heart failed him. Was she going to offer him money?

But what she said, with cheeks flaming, was: “I haven’t anything less than ten dollars. Do you think they will take it?”

“It’s doubtful. I have oodles of change.” He held out a handful of silver.

“Thank you so much, and—you must let me have your card——”

“Oh, please——”

Her voice had an edge of sharpness. “Of course it must be a loan.”

He handed her his card in silence. She read the name. “Mr. Barnes, you have been very kind. I am tremendously grateful.”

“It was not kindness—but now and then a princess passes.”

For a breathless moment her amazed glance met his—then the clang of a bell heralded an approaching car.

As he helped her out hurriedly she stumbled over[30] the rug. He caught her up, lifted her to the ground, and motioned to the motorman.

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