Wild Margaret

Transcriber's Note : This book is actually His Guardian Angel; or, Wild Margaret by Charles Garvice. This edition was erroneously attributed to Geraldine Fleming, a house pseudonym used by Street & Smith. See further notes at the end of the book for more information.

BY GERALDINE FLEMING.
When the train drew up at the small station of Leyton Ferrers, which it did in the slowest and most lazy of fashions, two persons got out. One was a young girl, who alighted from a third-class carriage, and who dragged out from under the seat a leather bag and a square parcel instead of waiting for the porter, who was too much engaged in light and pleasant conversation with the guard, to pay any attention to such small cattle as passengers.
The other person was a young man, who sauntered out of a first-class carriage, with a cigar in his lips, and his soft traveling cap a little on one side, and with that air which individuals who have been lucky enough to be born with silver spoons in their mouths naturally acquire, or are endowed with. Standing on the platform, as if it and the whole Great South-Northern Railway system belonged to him, this young gentleman at last caught sight of the porter.
Hi, porter! he called, and when the man came up, quickening his pace as he took in the tall, well-dressed figure of his summoner, the young man continued with a smile, Sorry to tear you away from your bosom friend, my man, but there's a portmanteau of mine in the van, or should be.
The porter touched his hat, and was going toward the van, when the young man called after him:
See to that young lady first, he said, indicating with a slight nod the young girl, who was struggling with the bag and the parcel.
Somewhat surprised at this display of unselfishness, the porter turned like a machine, and addressed the girl; the young man sauntered down the platform and, leaning over the fence, surveyed the June roses in the station-master's garden with an indolent and good-tempered patience.