along beside the track with a determined demeanor that said as plainly as words: "You may go ahead—but we shall see what we shall see."
Excellent train, it seemed fairly to fly. For a little while. Then another stop. Beauty wildly anxious on the seat of ancient plush. Another start—a stop—and a worried but musical voice in Dick Minot's ear:
"I beg your pardon—but what should you say are this train's chances for reaching San Marco by one o'clock?"
Minot turned. Brown eyes and troubled ones looked into his. A dimple twitched beside an adorable mouth. Fortunate Florida, peopled with girls like this.
"I should say," smiled Mr. Minot, "about the same as those of the famous little snowball that strayed far from home."
"Oh—you're right!" Why would she fidget so? "And I'm in a frightfully uncomfortable position. I simply must reach San Marco for luncheon at one. I must!" She clenched her small hands. "It's the most important luncheon of my life. What shall I do?"
