The stage coach into which the party presently stowed themselves, held now but those four—­Mr. Falkirk and his ward, and two gentlemen who had declared themselves on the way to the mountain.  The former established themselves somewhat taciturnly in the several corners of the back seat, and so made the journey; that is to say, as much as possible, for Mr. Falkirk being known to the other could not avoid now and then being drawn into communication with them.  One, indeed, Mr. Kingsland, made many and divers overtures to that effect.  His elegance of person and costume was advantageously displayed in an opposite corner, from whence he distributed civilities as occasion offered.  His book and his magazine were placed at the brown veil’s disposal; he stopped the coach to buy cherries from a wayside farm, which cherries were in like manner laid at Wych Hazel’s feet; and his observations on the topics that were available, demonstrated all his stores of wit and wisdom equally at hand and ready for use.  But brown veil would none of them all.  The daintiest of hands took two cherries and signed away the rest; the sweetest of girl voices declined the magazine or gave it over to Mr. Falkirk.  If the eyes burned brown lights (instead of blue) in their seclusion, if the voice just didn’t break with fun, perhaps only Mr. Falkirk found it out, and he by virtue of previous knowledge.  But in fact, Miss Hazel gave the keenest attention to everybody and everything.

A contrast to Mr. Kingsland was their other fellow-traveller.  Mr. Rollo occupying the place in front of Mr. Falkirk, made himself as much as possible at ease on the middle seat, with his back upon the persons who engaged Mr. Kingsland’s attention; but he did not thereby escape theirs.  When a society is so small, the members of it almost of necessity take note of one another.  The little brown-veiled figure could not help noticing what a master he was in the art of making himself comfortable; how skilfully shawls were disposed; how easily hand and foot, back and head, took the best position for jolting up the hill.  It amused her as something new; for Mr. Falkirk belonged to that type of manhood which rather delights in being uncomfortable whenever circumstances permit; and other men she had seen few.  Mr. Rollo had a book too, which he did not offer to lend; and he gave his lazy attention to nothing else—­unless when a bright glance of eye went over to Mr. Kingsland.  He was as patient as any of the party; as truly he had good reason, being by several degrees the most comfortable.  But Mr. Falkirk moved now and then unrestingly, and the back seat was hot and cramped,—­and Wych found the jolts and heavings of the coach springs a thing to be borne.  And that swinging and swaying middle seat, with its one occupant came so close upon her premises, that she dared not adventure the least thing, even to Mr. Falkirk.  If the momentary relief of turning that grey travelling shawl into a pincushion, occurred to her, nothing came of it; the