ng to her as
the train pulled out, disappearing in a dun obscurity, less significant
than the station, the receding ties, or the porter who was, in places
known only to his secretive self, concealing her baggage.

She could only mutter in growing panic, "I'm crazy. In-sane! Pledging
myself to this boy before I know how he will turn out. Will he learn
anything besides engineering? I know it--I do want to stroke his cheek
and--his kiss frightened me, but---- Will I hate him when I see him with
nice people? Can I introduce him to the Gilsons? Oh, I was mad; so
wrought up by that idiotic chase with Dlorus, and so sure I was a
romantic heroine and---- And I'm simply an indecisive girl in a
realistic muddle!"

Threatened by darkness and the sinister evening chill of the mountains,
with the train no longer cheerfully climbing the rocky ridge but
rumbling and snorting in the defiles, and startling her with agitating
forward leaps as though the brakes had let go, she could not endure the
bleak platform, and even less could she endure sitting in the chair car,
eyed by the smug tourists--people as empty of her romance as they were
incapable of her sharp tragedy. She balanced forward to the vestibule.
She stood in that cold, swaying, darkling place that was filled with the
smell of rubber and metal and grease and the thunderous clash of steel
on steel; she tried to look out into the fleeing darkness; she tried to
imagine that the train was carrying her away from the pursuing
enemy--from her own weak self.

Her father came puffing and lip-pursing and jolly, to take her to
dinner. Mr. Boltwood had no tearing meditations; he had a healthy
interest in soup. But he glanced at her, across the bright, sleek
dining-table; he seemed to study her; and suddenly Claire saw that he
was a very wise man. His look hinted, "You're worried, my dear," but his
voice ventured nothing beyond comfortable drawling stories to which she
had only, from the depth of her gloomy brooding, to nod mechanically.

She got a great deal of satisfaction and horror out of watching two
traveling-men after dinner. Milt had praised the race, and one of the
two traveling-men, a slender, clear-faced youngster, was rather like
Milt, despite plastered hair, a watch-chain slung diagonally across his
waistcoat, maroon silk socks, and shoes of pearl buttons, gray tops, and
patent-leather bottoms. The other man was a butter-ball. Both of them
had harshly pompous voices--the p