Chapter 15

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE

The moment we reached the quay at Quebec, some two days later, a
dozen young men, with little notebooks in their hands, jumped on
board all at once.

"Miss Callingham!" they cried with one accord, making a dash for the
quarter-deck. "Which is she? Oh, this!--If you please, Miss
Callingham, I should like to have ten minutes of your time to
interview you!"

I clapped my hands to my ears, and stood back, all horrified. What I
should have done, I don't know, but for a very kind man in a big
rough overcoat, who had jumped on board at the same time, and made
over to me like the reporters. He stepped up to me at once, pushed
aside the young men, and said in a most friendly tone:

"Miss Callingham, I think? You'd better come with me, then. These
people are all sharks. Everybody in Quebec's agog to see the Two-
souled Lady. Answer no questions at all. Take not the least notice
of them. Just follow me to the Custom House. Let them rave, but
don't speak to them."

"Who are you?" I asked blindly, clinging to his arm in my terror.

"I'm a policeman in plain clothes," my new friend answered; "and
I've been specially detailed by order for this duty. I'm here to
look after you. You've friends in Canada, though you may have quite
forgotten them. They've sent me to help you. Those are two of my
chums there, standing aside by the gangway. We'll walk you off
between us. Don't be afraid.--Here, you sir, there; make way!--No
one shall come near you."

I was so nervous, and so ashamed that I accepted my strange escort
without inquiry or remonstrance. He helped me, with remarkable
politeness for a common policeman, across to the Custom House, where
I sat waiting for my luggage. Reporters and sightseers, meanwhile,
pressed obtrusively around me. My protector held them back. I was
half wild with embarrassment. I'm naturally a reserved and somewhat
sensitive girl, and this American publicity made me crimson with
bashfulness.

As I sat there waiting, however, the two other policemen to whom my
champion had beckoned sat one on each side of me, keeping off the
idle crowd, while my first friend looked after the luggage and saw
it safely through the Customs for me. He must be an Inspector, I
fancied, or some other superior officer, the officials were so
deferential to him. I gave him my keys, and he looked after
everything himself. I had nothing, for my part, to do but to sit and
wait patiently for him.

As soon as he had finished, he called a porter to his side.

"Vite!" he cried, in a tone of authority, to the man. "Un fiacre!"

And the porter called one.

I