ran through it all--the whole
flavour of the thing. The girl opposite had been to the place too; she
told him of the historic spots she had visited; she knew a deal more
about them than Julia did. She spoke of the quaint pottery to be
bought there--it had not struck Julia as quaint, any more than it did
its buyers and sellers. And she referred to the sayings and opinions
of a great pose writer, who had expressed all he knew and felt and
thought about it, and more besides. Julia, apparently, had not read
him--what reading she had done seemed to be more in the direction of
_Gil Blas_, and Dean Swift, and other kindred things in different
languages.

The owner of the carnations glanced out of window, and commented on
the scenery, which was here rather fine--Julia would not have done
that; all the same, she would have known just what sort of country
they had passed through all the way, not only when it was fine; she
would have noticed the lie of the land, the style of work done there,
the kind of lives lived there, even, possibly, the likely difficulties
in the way of railway-making and bridge building. She would certainly
have taken account of the faces on the platforms at which they drew
up, so that without effort she could have picked out the porter who
would give the best service; the stranger in need of help, and he who
would offer it; and the guard most likely to be useful if it were
necessary to cheat the company--it was conceivable that cheating
companies might sometimes be necessary in her scheme of things.

[Illustration: "Julia"]

He cut another piece off the carnation stalks, they were still too
long. He did not wish Julia there; he fancied that it was likely she
would not easily find her place among the people he would meet at his
journey's end. But if there were no end--if he were going somewhere
else, east or west, north or south--say a certain old oriental town,
old and wicked as time itself, and full of the mystery and indefinable
charm of age, and iniquity, and transcendent beauty--she would like
that; she would grasp the whole, without attempting to express or
judge it. Or a little far-off Tyrolean village, remote as the
mountains from the life of the world--she would like that; the
discomfort would be nothing to her, the primitiveness, the simplicity,
everything. If he were going to some such place--why, then, there were
worse things than having to take the companion of the holiday too.

He handed b