Bell replied coolly, "It is inappropriate for us to be traveling alone."

"We're not alone. Unfortunately."

As Bell was saying "Besides, may I remind you that I am committed to Marion Morgan," a jazz band struck up in a room at the rear of the car. Bell peered through the door. Six black musicians playing clarinet, bass fiddle, guitar, trombone, and cornet were gathered around an upright piano improvising on Adaline Shepherd's brisk hit rag, "Pickles and Peppers."

Lillian Hennessy pressed close to look past Bell's shoulder. She was tucked into a swan-bill underbust corset, and Bell felt her breasts soft against his back. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the music. "I've never met a jazz musician qualified to act as a chaperone."

"Not them." She made a face. "Her: Father caught wind of my scheme to ambush you in San Francisco. She sent her to keep an eye on me."

The cornet player wheeled his horn in the air, as if to spear the ceiling. In the gap he opened in the circle of musicians, Bell saw that the piano player arched over the keys, with fingers flying, eyes bright, and full lips parted in a gleeful smile, was none other than Mrs. Comden.

Lillian said, "I don't know how he found out. But thanks to Father and Mrs. Comden, your honor will be safe, Mr. Bell. Please stay. All I ask is that we become friends. We'll have a fast ride. We're cleared straight through to the Cascades Cutoff."

Bell was tempted. The line north of Sacramento was congested with materials and work trains heading to and from the cutoff. He had been considering ordering up one of Hennessy's specials. Lillian's was ready to roll. Steaming northward on cleared tracks, the railroad president's daughter's special would save him a day of travel time.

Lillian said, "There's a telegraph in the baggage car, if you need to send messages."

That tipped it. "Thank you," Bell said with a smile. "I accept your 'ambush,' though I may have to hop off at Dunsmuir."

"Have a glass of champagne, and tell me all about your Miss Morgan."

The train lurched into motion as she handed him the glass. She licked a spilled drop from an exquisitely delicate knuckle and flashed her eyes in French-actress mode. "She was very pretty."

"Marion thought you were, too."

She made another face. "'Pretty' is rosy cheeks and gingham dresses. I am usually called more than pretty."

"Actually, she said you were unspeakably beautiful."

"Is that why you didn't introduce me?"

"I preferred to remind her that she is unspeakably beautiful, too."

Lillian's pale blue eyes flashed. "You don't pull your punches, do you?"

Bell returned a disarming smile. "Never in love, young lady--a habit I recommend you cultivate when you grow up. Now, tell me about your father's troubles with his bankers."

"He has no trouble with his bankers," Lillian shot back. She answered so quickly and so vehemently, Bell knew what to say next.