an
help you to live yours better. The will, assuredly, is not wanting.

"Courage, then! Pursue your purpose--

'Con l'animo che vince ogni battaglia,
Se col suo grave corpo non s'accascia.'

"And, believe me that you could have no better intimate for leisure
hours than the old Florentine, who knew so many things; among them,
your own particular complaint."

CHAPTER X

Clad for a long railway journey on a hot day; a grey figure of fluent
lines, of composedly decisive movements; a little felt hat
close-fitting to the spirited head, leaving full and frank the soft
rounded face, with its quietly observant eyes, its lips of contained
humour--Irene Derwent stepped from a cab at Euston Station and went
forward into the booking-office. From the box-seat of the same vehicle
descended a brisk, cheerful little man, looking rather like a courier
than an ordinary servant, who paid the cabman, saw to the luggage, and,
at a respectful distance, followed Miss Derwent along the platform; it
was Thibaut Rossignol.

Grey-clad also, with air no less calm and sufficient, a gentleman
carrying newspapers in Britannic abundance moved towards the train
which was about to start. Surveying for a moment, with distant
curiosity, the travellers about him, his eye fell upon that maiden of
the sunny countenance just as she was entering a carriage; he stopped,
insensibly drew himself together, subdued a smile, and advanced for
recognition.

"I am going to Liverpool, Miss Derwent. May I have the pleasure----?"

"If you will promise not to talk politics, Mr. Jacks."

"I can't promise that. I want to talk politics."

"From here to Crewe?"

"As far as Rugby, let us say. After that--morphology, or some other of
your light topics."

It seemed possible that they might have the compartment to themselves,
for it was mid-August, and the tumult of northward migration had
ceased. Arnold Jacks, had he known a moment sooner, would have settled
it with the guard. He looked forbiddingly at a man who approached; who,
in his turn, stared haughtily and turned away.

Irene beckoned to Thibaut, and from the window gave him a trivial
message for her father, speaking in French; Thibaut, happy to serve
her, put a world of chivalrous respect into his "Bien, Mademoiselle!"
Arnold Jacks averted his face and smiled. Was she girlish enough, then,
to find pleasure in speaking French before him? A charming trait!

The train started, and Mr. Jacks be