“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 with her into the carriage! See her shut the carriage door with the expressed intention of keeping other people out! She was accustomed to command. At the same time her face had an almost set smile, as though she had said to herself: “I will die smiling.” Constance felt sorry for her. While recognizing in Sophia a superior in charm, in experience, in knowledge of the world and in force of personality, she yet with a kind of undisturbed, fundamental superiority felt sorry for Sophia.
“What do you think?” said Sophia, absently fingering Fossette. “A man came up to me at Euston, while Cyril was getting my ticket, and said, 'Eh, Miss Baines, I haven’t seen ye for over thirty years, but I know you’re Miss Baines, or WERE—and you’re looking bonny.’ Then he went off. I think it must have been Holl, the grocer.”
“Had he got a long white beard?”
“Yes.”
“Then it was Mr. Holl. He’s been Mayor twice. He’s an alderman, you know.”
“Really!” said Sophia. “But wasn’t it queer?”