ut of Traffic rolled ponderously, day in and day out.

Gazing curiously down from her window at the sea of faces wherein
cabmen, omnibus drivers, porters, vociferated and gesticulated, each
striving to tower above his neighbour, like the tame vipers in the
Egyptian pitcher, whereof Teufelsdroeckh discourses in Sator Resartus,
Regina made no attempt to leave her seat, until the courteous
conductor to whose care Mrs. Lindsay had consigned her touched her
arm to arrest her attention.

"You are Miss Orme, I believe, and here is the gentleman who came to
meet you."

Turning quickly, with the expectation of seeing Mr. Palma, she found
herself in the presence of an elegantly dressed young gentleman, not
more than twenty-two or three years old, who wore ample hay-coloured
whiskers brushed in English style, after the similitude of the fins
of a fish, or the wings of a bat. A long moustache of the same colour
drooped over a mouth feminine in mould, and as he lifted his brown
fur cap and bowed she saw that his light hair was parted in the
middle of his head.

He handed her a card on which was printed, "Elliott Roscoe."

"Regina Orme, I presume. My cousin Mr. Palma desired me to meet you
at the train, and see you safely to his house, as he is not in the
city. I guess you had a tiresome trip; you look worn out. Have you
the checks for your baggage?"

She handed them to him, took her satchel, and followed him out of the
car, through the dense throng, to a _coupe_.

The driver, whose handsome blue coat with its glittering gilt buttons
was abundantly embroidered with snow-flakes, opened the door, and as
Mr. Roscoe assisted the stranger to enter, he said:

"Wait, Farley, until I look after the baggage."

"Yonder is O'Brien with his express waggon. Give him the checks, and
he will have the trunks at home almost as soon as we get there.
Michael O'Brien!"

As the ruddy, beaming pleasant countenance of the express man
approached, and he received the checks, Mr. Roscoe sprang into the
carriage, but Regina summoned courage to speak.

"If you please, I want my dog."

"Your dog! Did you leave it in the car? Is it a poodle?"

"Poodle! He is a Newfoundland, and the express agent has him."

"Then O'Brien will bring him with the trunks," said Mr. Roscoe,
preparing to close the door.

"I would not like to leave him behind."

"You certainly do not expect to carry him in the carriage?" answered
the gentleman, staring at her, as if