"At Centerville, for what they call dinner; and at Stringhampton
Junction in the evening. It is the fast express."

"Do we meet an eastward-bound train at Centerville?"

"I presume we do; but we shall not get out, so the crowd in the
dining-room will not incommode us. The contents of my basket will be
sufficient. But if you wish a cup of coffee, it will be eight cents.
There is a species of German cake at Centerville, remarkably filling
for the price. They bring them through the cars."

"What time is it now?"

"About half past twelve; we reach Centerville at two. What age has
Monsieur Heathcote, my dear?"

"Thirty-two or thirty-three, I believe."

"A gentleman of independent fortune, I presume?"

"He is independent, but, I was told, not rich."

"The position I should have supposed," said mademoiselle. "What
penetrating eyes he possesses; penetrating, yet soft. There is something
in his glance, coming from under those heavy brows, which is
particularly moving--one might almost say tender. Have you observed it?"

Yes, Anne had observed it.

Jeanne-Armande, protected as she supposed from indiscretion by the
engagement to the charming Mrs. Lorrington, rambled on, enjoying the
real pleasure of being sentimental and romantic, without risk, cost, or
loss of time, on this eventful day.

"I wish you could have seen Mr. Dexter, mademoiselle," said Anne, making
an effort to turn the tide. "He is considered handsome, and he has a
large fortune--"

"But not inherited, I presume," interposed mademoiselle, grandly. "Mr.
Heathcote, as I understand, lives upon his paternal revenues."

If Heathcote had been there, he might have answered that he tried to,
but never succeeded. He was not there, however; and Anne could only
reply that she did not know.

"He has undoubtedly that air," said Jeanne-Armande, faithful to her
distinguished escort, and waving away all diversions in favor of unknown
Dexters. "Do you know when they are to be married?"

"No," said Anne, drearily, looking now at the cliffs which bounded the
narrow valley through which the train was rushing.

"Let us hope that it will be soon; for life is short at best. Though not
romantic by nature, I own I should be pleased to possess a small portion
of the wedding cake of that amiable pair," pursued Jeanne-Armande,
fixing her eyes upon the suspended lamp of the car, lost in sentimental
reverie.

"I think I will buy a newspaper," said Anne, as the train-boy came