hose of the detectives. Then she almost
flung Pollyooly into the carriage, hustled her into the farthest
corner, and fairly sat on her in her effort to screen her from the eyes
of the crowd.

"Do not stir!" she hissed. "Ze train veel soon start! Zen we are
saved!"

Pollyooly could not have stirred, had she wished, so firmly did
Eglantine crush her into the corner. One of the detectives came to the
window and stared into the carriage gloomily. Eglantine met his gaze
with steady eyes. The guard whistled and waved his flag; the detective
fell back. He said to his colleague that it was a rum go. The train
started.

As their carriage passed out of the station, with a deep sigh of relief
Eglantine relaxed to an easier, less crushing posture, and at once took
up the subject of the Honourable John Ruffin. She showed herself
exceedingly curious about him, and Pollyooly's natural discretion was
somewhat strained in answering her questions. It was difficult to
convey as little information as possible.

But at the end of half an hour Eglantine had exhausted that subject;
and she turned to the yet more interesting matter of her own affairs.
She had much to tell Pollyooly about Devonshire, the wet garden of
England. Its horticultural advantages seemed to weigh but lightly with
her; she dwelt chiefly on the loneliness of the life she had been
leading, and deplored bitterly the fact that its inglorious ease was
spoiling her figure by increasing her girth.

Then, with an air of mystery and in deeper tones, she confided to
Pollyooly that her lot in this wet desert was not without its
alleviation. A wealthy landowner (he did own a part of the
market-garden he so sedulously cultivated) had developed a grand--oh,
but a grand!--passion for her, and was positively persecuting her with
his honourable intentions.

Pollyooly was deeply interested by her tale, for her recent experience
with Mr. Hilary Vance, Mr. Reginald Butterwick and Flossie had forced
the tender passion on her attention. She was greatly puzzled by the
reason which Eglantine gave for not making her landowner happy by
marrying him, that he was bearded. Mrs. Brown's husband, a cheerful
policeman, was bearded; but they were uncommonly happy together. In
the end she made up her mind that Eglantine's feeling in the matter
must be a French prejudice.

They reached Exeter at a few minutes past ten; and having no luggage
but the little kit-bag, in a few minutes