g since she had talked to a man of her own age,
so long since she had seen a face that roused her curiosity and
admiration, so long since she had been admired. The sun-shaft, shifted
by a westward trend of the train, bathed her from the knees up; and its
warmth increased her light-hearted sense of being in luck--above her
fate, instead of under it.

Astounding how much can be talked of in two or three hours of a railway
journey! And what a friendly after-warmth clings round those hours!
Does the difficulty of making oneself heard provoke confidential
utterance? Or is it the isolation or the continual vibration that
carries friendship faster and further than will a spasmodic
acquaintanceship of weeks? But in that long talk he was far the more
voluble. There was, too, much of which she could not speak. Besides,
she liked to listen. His slightly drawling voice fascinated her--his
audacious, often witty way of putting things, and the irrepressible
bubble of laughter that would keep breaking from him. He disclosed his
past, such as it was, freely--public-school and college life, efforts at
the bar, ambitions, tastes, even his scrapes. And in this spontaneous
unfolding there was perpetual flattery; Gyp felt through it all, as
pretty women will, a sort of subtle admiration. Presently he asked her
if she played piquet.

"Yes; I play with my father nearly every evening."

"Shall we have a game, then?"

She knew he only wanted to play because he could sit nearer, joined by
the evening paper over their knees, hand her the cards after dealing,
touch her hand by accident, look in her face. And this was not
unpleasant; for she, in turn, liked looking at his face, which had what
is called "charm"--that something light and unepiscopal, entirely lacking
to so many solid, handsome, admirable faces.

But even railway journeys come to an end; and when he gripped her hand to
say good-bye, she gave his an involuntary little squeeze. Standing at her
cab window, with his hat raised, the old dog under his arm, and a look of
frank, rather wistful, admiration on his face, he said:

"I shall see you at the opera, then, and in the Row perhaps; and I may
come along to Bury Street, some time, mayn't I?"

Nodding to those friendly words, Gyp drove off through the sultry London
evening. Her father was not back from the dinner, and she went straight
to her room. After so long in the country, it seemed very close in Bury
Street; she