As soon as the door was shut, the girl began to tremble.

“Oh, we ought not to have done that!” she exclaimed with a shiver of recollection.  “They were so very kind.  It was dreadful to impose upon them.  But—­you were not to blame.  It was my fault.  It was very kind of you.”

“We did not impose upon them!” he exclaimed peremptorily.  “You are my friend, and that was all that we claimed.  For the rest, you have certainly made good.  Your wonderful music!  How I wish I might hear more of it some time!”

The carriage paused to let a trolley pass, and a strong arc-light beat in upon the two.  A passing stranger peered curiously at them, and the girl shrank back in fear.  It was momentary, but the minds of the two were brought back to the immediate necessities of the occasion.

“Now, what may I do for you?” asked Dunham in a quiet, business-like tone, as if it were his privilege and right to do all that was to be done.  “Have you thought where you would like to go?”

“I have not been able to do much thinking.  It required all my wits to act with the present.  But I know that I must not be any further trouble to you.  You have done more already than any one could expect.  If you can have the carriage stop in some quiet, out-of-the-way street where I shall not be noticed, I will get out and relieve you.  If I hadn’t been so frightened at first, I should have had more sense than to burden you this way.  I hope some day I shall be able to repay your kindness, though I fear it is too great ever to repay.”

“Please don’t talk in that way,” said he protestingly.  “It has been a pleasure to do the little that I have done, and you have more than repaid it by the delight you have given me and my friends.  I could not think of leaving you until you are out of your trouble, and if you will only give me a little hint of how to help, I will do my utmost for you.  Are you quite sure you were followed?  Don’t you think you could trust me enough to tell me a little more about the matter?”

She shuddered visibly.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.  “I see it distresses you.  Of course it is unpleasant to confide in an utter stranger.  I will not ask you to tell me.  I will try to think for you.  Suppose we go to the station and get you a ticket to somewhere.  Have you any preference?  You can trust me not to tell any one where you have gone, can you not?” There was a kind rebuke in his tone, and her eyes, as she lifted them to his face, were full of tears.

“Oh, I do trust you!” she cried, distressed “You must not think that, but—­you do not understand.”

“Forgive me,” he said again, holding out his hand in appeal.  She laid her little gloved hand in his for an instant.

“You are so kind!” she murmured, as if it were the only thing she could think of.  Then she added suddenly: 

“But I cannot buy a ticket.  I have no money with me, and I——­”