te, crude flood of
electric light. Its name--Gare du Lyon--sounded warm, however, and sent
her fancy flying southward again. She was growing impatient to get on
when, to her surprise, a porter hovering in the corridor with a large
dressing-bag plumped it into the rack beside her own. Mary started.
Could it be possible that any one else had a right to come in with her?

The question was answered by the appearance of a marvellous lady who
followed the porter. "Which of us is here?" she asked. "Oh, it's you,
Mrs. Collis! That's your bag, I think."

She spoke like an Englishwoman, yet there was a faint roll of the "r"
suggestive of foreign birth or education. Mary had never seen any one
like her before. She was unusually tall, as tall as a man of good
height, and her figure was magnificent. Evidently she was not ashamed of
her stature, for her large black hat had upstanding white wings, and her
heels were high. Her navy blue cloth dress braided with black that had
threads of gold here and there was made to show her form to the best
advantage. Mary had not known that hair could be as black as the heavy
waves which melted into the black velvet of the hat. The level brows
over the long eyes were equally black, and so were the thick short
lashes. Between these inky lines the eyes themselves were as coldly gray
and empty as a northern sea, yet they were attractive, if only by an
almost sinister contrast. The skin was extraordinarily white, and it did
not occur to Mary that Nature alone had not whitened it, or reddened the
large scarlet mouth. Women did not paint at the convent, nor did Lady
MacMillan's guests. Mary did not know anything about paint. She thought
the newcomer very handsome, yet somehow formidable.

In a moment other people trooped into the corridor and grouped round the
door of Mary's compartment. There was a wisp of a woman with neat
features and sallow complexion, who looked the essence of respectability
combined with a small, tidy intelligence. She was in brown from head to
foot, and her hair was brown, too, where it was not turning gray.
Evidently she was Mrs. Collis, for she took a lively interest in the
bag, and said she must have it down, as the stupid people had put it
wrong side up. She spoke like an American, though not with the
delicately sweet drawl that Peter had. Behind her stood a pretty girl
whose features were neatly cut out on somewhat the same design, and
whose eyes and hair were of the same n