“Ah!” said Van Aldin unemotionally, “sometimes I guess I will go to one of these big guys in Harley Street and have him tell me that I need sunshine and change of air right away.”

“Don’t be so lazy,” cried Ruth; “next month is ever so much nicer than this month out there. You have got all sorts of things you can’t possibly leave just now.”

“Well, that’s so, I suppose,” said Van Aldin, with a sigh. “You had better be getting on board this train of yours, Ruth. Where is your seat?”

Ruth Kettering looked vaguely up at the train. At the door of one of the Pullman cars a thin, tall woman dressed in black was standing⁠—Ruth Kettering’s maid. She drew aside as her mistress came up to her.

“I have put your dressing-case under your seat, Madam, in case you should need it. Shall I take the rugs, or will you require one?”

“No, no, I shan’t want one. Better go and find your own seat now, Mason.”