ing light.
The landscape, through a half-mist, was as brown and green as the dress
of the beautiful silent woman in the opposite corner of the travelling
carriage.

Bulstrode, looking at her rather timidly, felt as if he were in a dream.

At Westboro' Abbey the guard unlocked the compartment door and
Bulstrode, who got out first, helped the Queen of Poltavia to descend.
As she put foot to the ground she said, half leaning on the arm he
gave: "I thank you--very much indeed."

He caught the few words eagerly, and was fatuous enough to fancy that
she meant something more than the common courteous acknowledgment of a
man's help from a travelling carriage.

The station was deserted. The express having arrived some half hour
before without them, there had evidently been no preparation made to
meet this train.

Surrounded by her luggage, her brand new luggage, the Queen waited on
the side of the station that faced the open country, whilst Bulstrode
made inquiries about telephoning or getting word to the castle.

At this juncture, down the lane, between red thickets and golden
hedges, a smart dog-cart tooled along driven by a lady. She waved a
welcoming hand.

"Jimmy," she said as she drove up and leaned out and nodded to him, "I
knew you'd miss the express, you're so absent-minded about trains; and
who could be expected to distinguish between a 3.50 and a 3.53? So, as
you see, I drove down on the chance."

He had not greeted her in words. The long afternoon, the romantic
extravagant episode, of which he had been unwillingly a part, made this
woman seem so real. He felt as if from a burlesque extravaganza he had
come out into the fresh air; their eyes had met and Mrs. Falconer did
not miss any other greeting.

"That lady," he then said, "whom you see standing on the edge of the
platform surrounded by her luggage, like a shipwrecked being on a
desert island, is the Queen of Poltavia."

"Heavens!" exclaimed Mrs. Falconer.

"Yes," he said indifferently, "we came down from London together."

"Why, the whole castle is in a state about her. A coach and postillion
went to fetch her at the express. Telegrams are flying all over the
country. Why did she take a local--and with you--Jimmy?"

"Perhaps she is absent-minded about trains as well," he smiled, "at all
events here she certainly is and it will be charming of you to drive
her up."

"But I don't know her!"

"Oh," he shrugged, "one doesn't exactly _know_