s as
occasion offered. His book and his magazine were placed at the
brown veil's disposal; he stopped the coach to buy cherries
from a wayside farm, which cherries were in like manner laid
at Wych Hazel's feet; and his observations on the topics that
were available, demonstrated all his stores of wit and wisdom
equally at hand and ready for use. But brown veil would none
of them all. The daintiest of hands took two cherries and
signed away the rest; the sweetest of girl voices declined the
magazine or gave it over to Mr. Falkirk. If the eyes burned
brown lights (instead of blue) in their seclusion, if the
voice just didn't break with fun, perhaps only Mr. Falkirk
found it out, and he by virtue of previous knowledge. But in
fact, Miss Hazel gave the keenest attention to everybody and
everything.

A contrast to Mr. Kingsland was their other fellow-traveller.
Mr. Rollo occupying the place in front of Mr. Falkirk, made
himself as much as possible at ease on the middle seat, with
his back upon the persons who engaged Mr. Kingsland's
attention; but he did not thereby escape theirs. When a
society is so small, the members of it almost of necessity
take note of one another. The little brown-veiled figure could
not help noticing what a master he was in the art of making
himself comfortable; how skilfully shawls were disposed; how
easily hand and foot, back and head, took the best position
for jolting up the hill. It amused her as something new; for
Mr. Falkirk belonged to that type of manhood which rather
delights in being uncomfortable whenever circumstances permit;
and other men she had seen few. Mr. Rollo had a book too,
which he did not offer to lend; and he gave his lazy attention
to nothing else--unless when a bright glance of eye went over
to Mr. Kingsland. He was as patient as any of the party; as
truly he had good reason, being by several degrees the most
comfortable. But Mr. Falkirk moved now and then unrestingly,
and the back seat was hot and cramped,--and Wych found the
jolts and heavings of the coach springs a thing to be borne.
And that swinging and swaying middle seat, with its one
occupant came so close upon her premises, that she dared not
adventure the least thing, even to Mr. Falkirk. If the
momentary relief of turning that grey travelling shawl into a
pincushion, occurred to her, nothing came of it; the thick
folds were untouched by one of her little fingers. She put her
face as nearly out of the coach