Mr. Trevelyan signed to a porter to come near.
"Folkestone train?" he said.
"Just coming in, sir."
"Bring these packages."
"Well, you are right for once, but I hate putting off till the last moment; it's such a risk. Make the man bring everything. Eleven altogether—a roll of shawls, two bandboxes, two hampers, two bags, two brown-paper parcels—"
"Come along!" quoth Mr. Trevelyan.
"I mean to have all these with me. Not in the van."
"Come, Marie."
Madame Collier obeyed, then broke loose, and rushed ahead, peering into one carriage window after another, as the train backed into position.
"Not a smoking carriage. I can't stand smoking! It ought to be put down by Act of Parliament. I declare there's nothing but smoking carriages. Bah!" with ineffable disgust in the twist of her nose and mouth. "No, not there, Stewart! I won't be close behind a smoking carriage. And not too much in front. If there's a collision, people in front are sure to be killed. Not too far behind. If the train should be run into by an express—No, I must have a corner seat, close to a window, going forward."