near. A
porter pushed his barrow, heavy with trunks and crowned with gun-cases,
against the legs of an earl, who swore. A burly man, red faced and
broad shouldered, elbowed a marchioness who, not knowing how to swear
effectively, tried to wither him with a glance. She failed. The man
who had jostled her had small reverence for rank or title. He was,
besides, in a hurry, and had no time to spend in apologising to great
ladies.

Sir Gilbert Hawkesby was one of his Majesty's judges. He had won his
position by sheer hard work and commanding ability. He had not stopped
in his career to soothe the outraged dignity of those whom he pushed
aside; and he had no intention now of delaying his progress along the
railway platform to explain to a marchioness why he had jostled her.
It was only by a vigorous use of his elbows that he could make his way;
and it ought to have been evident, even to a peeress, that he meant to
go from one end of the train to the other. His eyes glanced sharply
right and left as he pushed on. He peered through the windows of the
carriages. He scanned each figure in the crowd. At last he caught
sight of a lady standing beside the bookstall. She wore a long grey
cloak and a dark travelling-hat. She stooped over the books and papers
on the stall before her; and her face, in profile as Sir Gilbert saw
it, was lit by the flaring gas above her head. Having caught sight of
her, the judge pushed on even more vigorously than before.

"Here I am, Milly," he said. "I said I'd be in time to see you off,
and I am; but owing to--"

The lady at the bookstall turned and looked at him. She flushed
suddenly, and then as suddenly grew pale. She raised her hand
hurriedly and pulled her veil over her face. Sir Gilbert stared at her
in amazement. Then his face, too, changed colour.

"I--I beg your pardon," he said; "I mistook you for my niece. It's
quite inconceivable to me how I--a most remarkable likeness. I'm
astonished that I didn't notice it before. The fact is--under the
circumstances--"

Sir Gilbert was acutely uncomfortable. Never in the course of a long
career at the bar had he felt so hopelessly embarrassed. On no
occasion in his life, so far as he could remember, had he been reduced
to stammering incoherences. It had not occurred to him to apologise to
the jostled marchioness a few minutes before. He was now anxious to
abase himself before the lady at the bookstall.

"I sincerely be