“That is a very kindly way to look on my forgetfulness—­rather, I should say, stupidity.”  He sat down then, and the short remaining distance we passed in silence.

We were both very prompt in responding to the summons given by the conductor when our station was reached.  The waiting-room was well lighted and warmed, and a welcome odor of food pervaded the air.  I resolved to make a little foray on my own account, to secure, if possible, a bit of luncheon; but, after seeing me comfortably seated by a hot stove, Mr. Winthrop left, only to return in a few moments with the welcome announcement that refreshments were awaiting us.  I expressed my surprise that food should be in readiness at that unseasonable hour.

“Oh, I telegraphed an hour ago to have it prepared,” he replied.

“Then I was sleeping a good while,” I said, ruefully.

“An hour or two.  I only wakened you in time to collect yourself for changing cars.”

“And you have not slept at all?”

“Scarcely.  I do not permit myself that luxury in public.”

I was silenced, but not so far crushed as to lose my appetite.  A cup of tea, such as Mrs. Flaxman never brewed for me, effectually banished sleep for the rest of the night.  The journey back was tiresome, the car crowded, and the long night seemed interminable.  I was wedged in beside a stout old gentleman, whose breath was disagreeably suggestive of stale brandy, while a wheezy cough disturbed him as well as myself.  He looked well to do, and was inclined to be friendly; but his eyes had a peculiar expression that repelled me.  Mr. Winthrop had got a seat some distance behind me.  By twisting my neck uncomfortably, I could get a reassuring glimpse of his broad shoulders and handsome face.  At last he came to me.  I half rose, for my aged companion was making me nervous with his anxiety for my comfort.

“We will go into the next car; it may not be so crowded,” he said, taking my satchel.  Fortunately we found a vacant seat; and I began to feel very safe and content with him again at my side.

“I do not think your late traveling companion could have been a widower, or you would not have been so eager to get away.  The look of appeal on your face, when I got an occasional glimpse of it, was enough to melt one’s heart.”

I laughed in spite of myself.  “It never occurred to me to ask, but he certainly is not a woman hater,” I said, with a flush, as I mentally recalled some of his gracious remarks.  I made my replies in brief and stately dignity; or at least as much of the latter as I could command, but he was not easily repulsed.  Feeling so secure and sheltered now, my thoughts went out to the unprotected of my sex cast among the evil and heartless, to fight their way purely amid bleakness and sin.  I shuddered unconsciously.  Mr. Winthrop turned to me.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I was only thinking,” I stammered.