“I should have known you anywhere,” said Sophia, with apparently careless tranquillity, as she stooped to kiss Constance, raising her veil.

Constance saw that this marvellous tranquillity must be imitated, and she imitated it very well.  It was a ‘Baines’ tranquillity.  But she noticed a twitching of her sister’s lips.  The twitching comforted Constance, proving to her that she was not alone in foolishness.  There was also something queer about the permanent lines of Sophia’s mouth.  That must be due to the ‘attack’ about which Sophia had written.

“Did Cyril meet you?” asked Constance.  It was all that she could think of to say.

“Oh yes!” said Sophia, eagerly.  “And I went to his studio, and he saw me off at Euston.  He is a very nice boy.  I love him.”

She said ‘I love him’ with the intonation of Sophia aged fifteen.  Her tone and imperious gesture sent Constance flying back to the ’sixties.  “She hasn’t altered one bit,” Constance thought with joy.  “Nothing could change Sophia.”  And at the back of that notion was a more general notion:  “Nothing could change a Baines.”  It was true that Constance’s Sophia had not changed.  Powerful individualities remain undisfigured by no matter what vicissitudes.  After this revelation of the original Sophia, arising as it did out of praise of Cyril, Constance felt easier, felt reassured.

“This is Fossette,” said Sophia, pulling at the chain.

Constance knew not what to reply.  Surely Sophia could not be aware what she did in bringing such a dog to a place where people were so particular as they are in the Five Towns.

“Fossette!” She repeated the name in an endearing accent, half stooping towards the dog.  After all, it was not the dog’s fault.  Sophia had certainly mentioned a dog in her letters, but she had not prepared Constance for the spectacle of Fossette.

All that happened in a moment.  A porter appeared with two trunks belonging to Sophia.  Constance observed that they were superlatively ‘good’ trunks; also that Sophia’s clothes, though ‘on the showy side,’ were superlatively ‘good.’  The getting of Sophia’s ticket to Bursley occupied them next, and soon the first shock of meeting had worn off.

In a second-class compartment of the Loop Line train, with Sophia and Fossette opposite to her, Constance had leisure to ‘take in’ Sophia.  She came to the conclusion that, despite her slenderness and straightness and the general effect of the long oval of her face under the hat, Sophia looked her age.  She saw that Sophia must have been through a great deal; her experiences were damagingly printed in the details of feature.  Seen at a distance, she might have passed for a woman of thirty, even for a girl, but seen across a narrow railway carriage she was a woman whom suffering had aged.  Yet obviously her spirit was unbroken.  Hear her tell a doubtful porter that of course she should take Fossette