"An hour or two. I only wakened you in time to collect yourself for
changing cars."
"And you have not slept at all?"
"Scarcely. I do not permit myself that luxury in public."
I was silenced, but not so far crushed as to lose my appetite. A cup of
tea, such as Mrs. Flaxman never brewed for me, effectually banished sleep
for the rest of the night. The journey back was tiresome, the car
crowded, and the long night seemed interminable. I was wedged in beside a
stout old gentleman, whose breath was disagreeably suggestive of stale
brandy, while a wheezy cough disturbed him as well as myself. He looked
well to do, and was inclined to be friendly; but his eyes had a peculiar
expression that repelled me. Mr. Winthrop had got a seat some distance
behind me. By twisting my neck uncomfortably, I could get a reassuring
glimpse of his broad shoulders and handsome face. At last he came to
me. I half rose, for my aged companion was making me nervous with his
anxiety for my comfort.
"We will go into the next car; it may not be so crowded," he said, taking
my satchel. Fortunately we found a vacant seat; and I began to feel very
safe and content with him again at my side.
"I do not think your late traveling companion could have been a widower,
or you would not have been so eager to get away. The look of appeal on
your face, when I got an occasional glimpse of it, was enough to melt
one's heart."
I laughed in spite of myself. "It never occurred to me to ask, but he
certainly is not a woman hater," I said, with a flush, as I mentally
recalled some of his gracious remarks.
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