hought I must be
mistaken. At one moment, in the sunlight, the difference was striking;
but when next I saw them, in shadow, the difference was hardly
perceptible. Yet there it was, and it gave a peculiar but agreeable
expression to the face.

He was extremely kind and pleasant, and I must own that when an old
gentleman got in at Rugby I was sorry our _tete-a-tete_ should be
interrupted. We had been talking over all sorts of subjects, from
pitch-and-toss to manslaughter, exclusive--for those two subjects had
not yet been discussed. (I know it is a very vulgar expression, and I
ought not to use it, only I am always with the boys and I am a "Tommy"
myself.)

The old gentleman, however, did not trouble us long, for he had made a
mistake and had got into the wrong train. He hobbled out much quicker
than he got in, and my friend the actor was most polite in helping him
and handing out his parcels.

When that was over we settled down again comfortably. By the time we got
to Crewe we were like old friends, and chatted together over my
sandwiches, or at least while I ate them, for he had his lunch at
Preston, as Bradshaw informed us the passengers were expected to do.

I fully expected we should get an influx of companions here, for the
platform was crowded, but my carriage door was locked and I noticed the
guard hovering near; he seemed particularly anxious to direct people
elsewhere. Perhaps he thought that as I was an unprotected female I
should prefer to be quite alone, and I was busy concocting a little
speech about "a gentleman coming back," in case he should refuse to let
my actor come into the carriage. It was quite unnecessary, however, as
directly he caught sight of him in the distance he opened the door with
an obsequious bow. I began to wonder if he knew him. Perhaps he was a
celebrated actor, and when actors are celebrated nowadays they are
celebrated indeed. I felt quite elated at having anything to do with a
member of such a fashionable profession, and looked at him with more
interest than ever.

I was dreadfully sorry when we reached Carlisle, for there my journey
ended--for that day at least. I was to spend the night with a maiden
aunt, living near Carlisle, and go on to Inverness the next morning. The
station came in sight only too soon. My companion had been telling me
some mountaineering experiences which had been called to his mind by the
scenery we had been passing through, and the train pulled up in