parties to secure seats, the altercation between the young man with the
St. Bernard dog and the guard who refused to allow it in the carriage,
the wrath of the gentleman whose fishing-rod was broken, the grief of
the lady whose golf-clubs were missing, and the despair of the young
couple whose baby had gone on in the train; then, growing rather weary
of the ever-moving throng, she turned her eyes to the bookstall, and
tried to amuse herself with admiring the large coloured supplements
which adorned the back, or reading the names of the rows of attractive
books and periodicals which were spread forth in tempting array. She was
fumbling in her pocket, and wondering whether she would spend a certain
cherished penny on an illustrated paper, or keep it for a more urgent
occasion, when her attention was aroused by a pair of fellow-travellers
who strolled in a leisurely fashion up to the bookstall, and, standing
close beside her, began to turn over some of the various magazines and
journals.

They were a tall, fashionably-dressed lady, carrying a tiny white
lap-dog under her arm, and a little girl of about her own age, a child
who appeared so charmingly pretty to Isobel's eyes that she could not
help gazing at her in scarcely-concealed admiration. An older and more
practised observer would have noticed that the newcomer's face lacked
character, and that her claims to beauty lay mostly in her dainty
pink-and-white colouring and her curling flaxen hair, and would have
decided, moreover, that the elaborately-made white Japanese silk dress,
the pale-blue drawn chiffon hat with its garland of flowers, the tall
white French kid boots, the tiny gold bangles and the jewelled locket
seemed more suitable for a garden party or a walk on the promenade than
for the dust and dirt of a crowded railway journey. To Isobel, however,
she appeared like an enchanted princess in a fairy story, and she looked
on with thrilling interest while the attractive stranger made her choice
among the supply of literature provided for the wants of the travelling
public. She seemed somewhat difficult to satisfy, for she threw down one
magazine after another in a rather disdainful fashion, declaring that
none of them looked worth reading, and, calling to the assistant, bade
him show her some story-books. A goodly pile of these was handed down
for her inspection, and Isobel, who stood almost at her elbow, could see
over her shoulder as she turned the pages. So en