Roman nose. The insulation and complacency of its pale skin, the passive
righteousness about its curve, the prim separation from the others of the
fat little finger, had acquired a wholly unaccountable importance. It
embodied the verdict of his fellow-passengers, the verdict of Society;
for he knew that, whether or no repugnant to the well-bred mind, each
assemblage of eight persons, even in a third-class carriage, contains the
kernel of Society.

But being in love, and recently engaged, Shelton had a right to be immune
from discontent of any kind, and he reverted to his mental image of the
cool, fair face, quick movements, and the brilliant smile that now in his
probationary exile haunted his imagination; he took out his fiancee's
last letter, but the voice of the young foreigner addressing him in rapid
French caused him to put it back abruptly.

"From what she tells me, sir," he said, bending forward to be out of
hearing of the girl, "hers is an unhappy case. I should have been only
too glad to help her, but, as you see"--and he made a gesture by which
Shelton observed that he had parted from his waistcoat--"I am not
Rothschild. She has been abandoned by the man who brought her over to
Dover under promise of marriage. Look"--and by a subtle flicker of his
eyes he marked how the two ladies had edged away from the French girl
"they take good care not to let their garments touch her. They are
virtuous women. How fine a thing is virtue, sir! and finer to know you
have it, especially when you are never likely to be tempted."

Shelton was unable to repress a smile; and when he smiled his face grew
soft.

"Haven't you observed," went on the youthful foreigner, "that those who
by temperament and circumstance are worst fitted to pronounce judgment
are usually the first to judge? The judgments of Society are always
childish, seeing that it's composed for the most part of individuals who
have never smelt the fire. And look at this: they who have money run too
great a risk of parting with it if they don't accuse the penniless of
being rogues and imbeciles."

Shelton was startled, and not only by an outburst of philosophy from an
utter stranger in poor clothes, but at this singular wording of his own
private thoughts. Stifling his sense of the unusual for the queer
attraction this young man inspired, he said:

"I suppose you're a stranger over here?"

"I've been in England seven months, but not yet in London," r