on could be based; whereas it was highly uncertain whether
any formula could be found that would produce the desired effect on
Petsy, whose illness she attributed to the shock of Og's sudden and
disconcerting appearance on Saturday, when all Petsy's nervous force
was required to digest the copious cream. Consequently, though she threw
reproachful glances at Michael, those directed at Barbara, who was the
cause of the acuter tragedy, were pointed with more penetrating blame.
Indeed, it is questionable whether Lady Ashbridge would have cried at
all over Michael's affairs had not Petsy's also been in so lamentable
and critical a state.

Just as the train began to move out of the station a young man rushed
across the platform, eluded the embrace of the guard who attempted to
stop him with amazing agility, and jumped into Michael's compartment.
He slammed the door after him, and leaned out, apparently looking for
someone, whom he soon saw.

"Just caught it, Sylvia," he shouted. "Send on my luggage, will you?
It's in the taxi still, I think, and I haven't paid the man. Good-bye,
darling."

He waved to her till the curving line took the platform out of sight,
and then sat down with a laugh, and eyes of friendly interest for
Michael.

"Narrow squeak, wasn't it?" he said gleefully. "I thought the guard had
collared me. And I should have missed Parsifal."

Michael had recognised him at once as he rushed across the platform; his
shouting to Sylvia had but confirmed the recognition; and here on the
day of his entering into his new kingdom of liberty was one of its
citizens almost thrown into his arms. But for the moment his old
invincible habit of shyness and sensitiveness forbade any responsive
lightness of welcome, and he was merely formal, merely courteous.

"And all your luggage left behind," he said. "Won't you be dreadfully
uncomfortable?"

"Uncomfortable? Why?" asked Falbe. "I shall buy a handkerchief and a
collar every day, and a shirt and a pair of socks every other day till
it arrives."

Michael felt a sudden, daring impulse. He remembered Aunt Barbara's
salutary remarks about crossness being the equivalent of thinking about
oneself. And the effort that it cost him may be taken as the measure of
his solitary disposition.

"But you needn't do that," he said, "if--if you will be good enough to
borrow of me till your things come."

He blurted it out awkwardly, almost brusquely, and Falbe looked slightly
amused