release; and at six o'clock that night the attentive porter handed her down the steps to the platform of the beautiful Union Station in Washington.
She had only her light traveling bag to carry, so she followed the crowd through the gates, walking slowly and scanning the faces anxiously in order that she might not pass her uncle. She did not wish to go through the station out on the plaza, lest she make it more difficult for him to find her, and she was keenly disappointed that he had not been at the gate, for the train was half an hour late and she had confidently expected him to be waiting. She took up her stand near the door of the waiting room and scanned the eddying circles of travelers that passed and repassed her.
"Something must have delayed him," she thought uneasily. "He couldn't miss me even in a crowd, because he is so careful. I hope he got the telegram."
She had turned to compare her wrist-watch with the station clock when a voice at her back said half-doubtfully, "Betty?"
