Her own seat was on the right of her sister-in-law, next Reginald Hornby.  All the men except Eddie wore overalls.  He had replaced his with an old black waistcoat and a pair of grubby dark trousers.  Nora wondered sarcastically if his more formal costume was in honor of her arrival, but quickly remembered that he had had to drive to Dyer.  It was cold outside; probably these festive garments were warmer.  She found herself speculating as to whether any of the men owned anything but outer coats.

There hadn’t been much general conversation at that first meal.  Naturally, Eddie had had many questions to ask about old acquaintances in England.  Nora had given her first impressions of travel in the New World, addressing many of her remarks to Gertie, who had been noticeably silent.  Through all her bright talk the thought would obtrude itself:  “What can Reggie Hornby think of my brother?”

She had an angry consciousness, too, that she was unwittingly furnishing much amusement to that objectionable person opposite, whose name she learned was Frank Taylor.  She meant to speak to Eddie about him later.  He was an entirely new type to her.  His fellow servant, whose name was Trotter, on the contrary, could be seen about London any day, an ordinary, ignorant Cockney.  He, at least, had the merit of seeming to know his place and how to conduct himself in the presence of his betters, and except when asking for more syrup, of which he seemed inordinately fond, kept discreetly silent.

But the idea that there was any difference in their stations was not betrayed in Taylor’s look or manner.  He commented humorously from time to time on Nora’s various experiences coming overland, quite oblivious, to all appearances, that she pointedly ignored him.  Nora had arrived at that point in her gay recital when she had had qualms that her brother had failed to meet her.

“You can fancy how I felt getting down at a perfectly strange station——­”

She was interrupted by Gertie’s irritating little laugh.

“But what have I said?  What is it?”

It was Taylor who replied.

“Well, you see out here in the wilderness we don’t call it a station, we call it a depot.”

“Do you really?” asked Nora with exaggerated surprise, looking at her brother.

“Custom of the country,” he said smilingly.

“But a depot is a place where stores are kept.”

“Of course I don’t know what you call it in England,” said Gertie aggressively, “but while you’re in this country, I guess you’d better call it what other folks do.”

“It would be rather absurd for me to call it that when it’s wrong,” said Nora, flushing with annoyance.

Gertie’s thin lips tightened.

“Of course I don’t pretend to have had very much schooling, but it seems to me I’ve read something somewhere about doing as the Romans do when you’re livin’ with them.  At any rate, I’m sure of one thing:  it’s considered the polite thing to do in any country.”