"But he
isn't in clothespins now. He's in mines, and banks, and steamboats, and
railroads, and I don't know what all; and Mrs. Westangle, the second of
her name, never was in clothespins."
Miss Macroyd laughed all through her talk, and she was in a final burst
of laughing when the train slowed into Stamford. There a girl came into
the car trailing her skirts with a sort of vivid debility and overturning
some minor pieces of hand-baggage which her draperies swept out of their
shelter beside the chairs. She had to take one of the seats which back
against the wall of the state-room, where she must face the whole length
of the car. She sat weakly fallen back in the chair and motionless, as
if almost unconscious; but after the train had begun to stir she started
up, and with a quick flinging of her veil aside turned to look out of the
window. In the flying instant Verrian saw a colorless face with pinched
and sunken eyes under a worn-looking forehead, and a withered mouth whose
lips parted feebly.
On her part, Miss Macroyd had doubtless already noted that the girl was,
with no show of expensiveness, authoritatively well gowned and personally
hatted. She stared at her, and said, "What a very hunted and escaping
effect."
"She does look rather-fugitive," Verrian agreed, staring too.
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