For the southward train they had to wait ten minutes.  Jessica, keeping as close as possible to her companion’s side, tried to converse, but her thoughts were in a tumult like to that about her.  She felt a faintness, a quivering in her limbs.

‘May I sit down for a moment?’ she said, looking at Barmby with a childlike appeal.

‘To be sure.’

She pointed in a direction away from the crowd.

‘I have something to say—­it’s quieter—­’

Samuel evinced surprise, but allowed himself to be led towards the black mouth of the tunnel, whence at that moment rushed an engine with glaring lights upon its breast.

‘We may not be alone in the train,’ continued Jessica.  ’There’s something you ought to know I must tell you to-night.  You were asking me about Nancy Lord.’

She spoke with panting breath, and looked fixedly at him.  The eagerness with which he lent ear gave her strength to proceed.

‘You asked me if she was engaged.’

‘Yes—­well?’

He had even forgotten his politeness; he saw in her a mere source of information.  Jessica moved closer to him on the bench.

‘Had you any reason for thinking she was?’

‘No particular reason, except something strange in her behaviour.’

‘Would you like to know the whole truth?’

It was a very cold night, and a keen wind swept the platform; but Jessica, though indifferently clad, felt no discomfort from this cause.  Yet she pressed closer to her companion, so that her cheek all but touched his shoulder.

‘Of course I should,’ Barmby answered.  ‘Is there any mystery?’

‘I oughtn’t to tell.’

‘Then you had better not.  But why did you begin?’

‘You ought to know.’

‘Why ought I to know?’

‘Because you—.’  She broke off.  A sudden chill made her teeth chatter.

‘Well—­why?’ asked Samuel, with impatience.

‘Are you—­are you in love with her?’

Voice and look embarrassed him.  So did the girl’s proximity; she was now all but leaning on his shoulder.  Respectable Mr. Barmby could not be aware that Jessica’s state of mind rendered her scarcely responsible for what she said or did.

‘That’s a very plain question,’ he began; but she interrupted him.

’I oughtn’t to ask it.  There’s no need for you to answer.  I know you have wanted to marry her for a long time.  But you never will.’

‘Perhaps not—­if she has promised somebody else.’

‘If I tell you—­will you be kind to me?’

‘Kind?’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ she added hurriedly.  ’I mean—­will you understand that I felt it a duty?  I oughtn’t to tell a secret; but it’s a secret that oughtn’t to be kept.  Will you understand that I did it out of—­out of friendship for you, and because I thought it right?’

’Oh, certainly.  After going so far, you had better tell me and have done with it.’