ow； here we were； stiff and self…conscious on the platform； and framed in the window of the railway…carriage was the face of our friend； but it was as the face of a stranger—a stranger anxious to please； an appealing stranger； an awkward stranger。 “Have you got everything？” asked one of us； breaking a silence。 “Yes； everything；” said our friend； with a pleasant nod。 “Everything；” he repeated； with the emphasis of an empty brain。 “You’ll be able to lunch on the train；” said I； though the prophecy had already been made more than once。 “Oh； yes； he said with conviction。 He added that the train went straight through to Liverpool。 This fact seemed to strike us as rather odd。 We exchanged glances。“Doesn’t it stop at Crewe？” asked one of us。 “No；” said our friend； briefly。 He seemed almost disagreeable。 There was along pause。 One of us； with a nod and a forced smile at the traveler； said “Well！” The nod； the smile and the unmeaning monosyllable； were returned conscientiously。 Another pause was broken by one of us with a fit of coughing。 It was an obviously assumed fit； but it served to pass the time。 The bustle of the platform was unabated。 There was no sign of the train’s departure。 Release—ours； and our friend’s—was not yet。
My wandering eye alighted on a rather portly middle…aged man who was talking earnestly from the platform to a young lady at the next window but one to ours。 His fine profile was vaguely4 familiar to me。 The young lady was evidently American； and he was