Garnet entered the compartment, and stood at the door, looking out in
order, after the friendly manner of the traveling Briton, to thwart an
invasion of fellow-travelers. Then he withdrew his head suddenly and
sat down. An elderly gentleman, accompanied by a girl, was coming
toward him. It was not this type of fellow-traveler whom he hoped to
keep out. He had noticed the girl at the booking office. She had
waited by the side of the line, while the elderly gentleman struggled
gamely for the tickets, and he had plenty of opportunity of observing
her appearance. For five minutes he had debated with himself as to
whether her hair should rightly be described as brown or golden. He
had decided finally on brown. It then became imperative that he should
ascertain the color of her eyes. Once only had he met them, and then
only for a second. They might be blue. They might be gray. He could
not be certain. The elderly gentleman came to the door of the
compartment and looked in.

"This seems tolerably empty, my dear Phyllis," he said.

Garnet, his glance fixed on his magazine, made a note of the name. It
harmonized admirably with the hair and the eyes of elusive color.

"You are sure you do not object to a smoking carriage, my dear?"

"Oh, no, father. Not at all."

Garnet told himself that the voice was just the right sort of voice to
go with the hair, the eyes, and the name.

"Then I think--" said the elderly gentleman, getting in. The
inflection of his voice suggested the Irishman. It was not a brogue.
There were no strange words. But the general effect was Irish. Garnet
congratulated himself. Irishmen are generally good company. An
Irishman with a pretty daughter should be unusually good company.

The bustle on the platform had increased momently, until now, when,
from the snorting of the engine, it seemed likely that the train might
start at any minute, the crowd's excitement was extreme. Shrill cries
echoed down the platform. Lost sheep, singly and in companies, rushed
to and fro, peering eagerly into carriages in the search for seats.
Piercing cries ordered unknown "Tommies" and "Ernies" to "keep by
aunty, now." Just as Ukridge returned, the dreaded "Get in anywhere"
began to be heard, and the next moment an avalanche of warm humanity
poured into the carriage. A silent but bitter curse framed itself on
Garnet's lips. His chance of pleasant conversation with the lady of
the brown hair and the eyes that were either gra