AT the station, which Richard Storms had designated, Judith Hart had been waiting while three or four trains went by. She did not travel much by railroads, and this was almost like a new experience to her. She had brought no luggage, for the pretty dress of black and scarlet, that Storms had given her, was the only portion of her wardrobe worth taking away, and she had put that on with a womanly desire to please his parents with her appearance, which certainly was that of a beautiful, if not highly-bred, girl.
It was getting dark when a train came up, and Storms, recognizing her on the platform, made the signal agreed upon, though his face clouded over, and he stifled an oath between his teeth when he saw how conspicuous the dress made her.
"I might have known it," he thought; "from the highest to the lowest, all female creatures are alike. Most of them would go in full dress to the gallows, if the hangman were fool enough to permit it."
Judith had not seen the first signal, but stood on the verge of the platform, looking with evident disappointment up and down the train, when her eyes fell on the department he was in. The next instant she sprang up the steps and took a seat by his side, but the smile left her face when he looked up vaguely and turned to the opposite window, as if her presence was an intrusion.
The train gave a lurch and moved on. Then she ventured to speak.
"You look sullen. You do not seem glad. What is the matter, Richard?"
Storms turned in his seat and scrutinized her dress from head to foot.
"You don't like it?" she said, in some confusion; "but I had nothing else fit to wear at your mother's house, and I thought you would like me to look like a lady, as you are to make me one so soon. Forgive me, if I have taken too much on myself."
"Forgive you for making yourself so handsome? I should be a brute of a fellow not to do that."
The girl's heart leaped. She had expected harsh language, reproach, perhaps bitterness, if the dress did not please him; but there was nothing of this; on the contrary, there was hilarity in his voice, a sort of careless abandonment, as if some pleasant surprise had been given him, which he was prepared to accept with acquiescence at least.