she would be able to order any dish she fancied, and
find it better served than she had ever known it before; or to dine at
the Hotel Metropole, where Monsieur Delma's perfect orchestra would
play for her any mortal thing for which she chose to ask, and play it
better than she had ever heard it played.

These memories, and a really excellent cup of coffee, helped Christobel
in her struggles with the round of cold tongue; and she looked across
the little marble-topped table brightly at the Professor, and spoke
with a cheerful hopefulness which surprised herself.

But something, other than his own plate of cold tongue, seemed weighing
on the Professor. He had become preoccupied and distrait.

When they reached the Folkestone train, Christobel found out the cause
of his preoccupation.

"My dear Ann--I should say Christobel," remarked the Professor,
hurriedly, as he put her into an empty compartment, and hesitated in
the doorway. "I am always accustomed at this hour to have my pipe and
a nap. Should you object, my dear Ann--er--that is, Christobel, if I
sought a smoking compartment?"

"Oh, _please_ do!" she exclaimed, eagerly. The idea of two hours of
freedom and solitude suddenly seemed an undreamed of joy. "Don't think
of me. I am quite happy here."

"I will provide you with a paper," said the Professor, and hailed a
passing boy. He laid the paper on her lap, and disappeared.

The train started.

Christobel looked out of the window as they slowly steamed across the
bridge over the Thames. She loved the flow of the river, with its
constant procession of barges, dredges, boats, and steamers; a silent,
moving highway, right through the heart of the noisy whirl of London
street-traffic. They ran past old St. Saviour's Church, now promoted
to be Southwark Cathedral; out through the suburbs, until streets
became villas, woods and meadows appeared, and the train ran through
Chislehurst--peaceful English resting-place where lie entombed the
bright Imperial hopes of France--then on through Sevenoaks, into the
bowery green of the Kentish hop-gardens.

After passing Sevenoaks, she took up the Professor's paper and glanced
at it. Somehow she had felt sure it would be the _Daily Graphic_. It
was the _Daily Mirror_! She had never held a halfpenny illustrated
paper in her hands before. No doubt it was an excellent paper, and met
the need of an immense number of people, to whom an additional
halfpenny a day would