He was not naturally vain, but it did strike him that he should gain in the end by this delay, as a battered-looking, travel-stained, wobegone man would not make his appearance on the Turoy scene with much effect. And he could not afford to dispense with a single advantage in the contest before him, for he knew the adversary he had to deal with, and that if once he gave Lady Gwendolyn the chance of making a jest at his expense he was undone.
She was one of those women who would forgive a lover for having committed a crime, but would never pardon him if he made himself ridiculous. So that Colonel Dacre gave himself seven good hours’ sleep, and started the next morning in excellent health and spirits.
The journey was a long one, but with hope for a companion time passes so quickly, and whenever he was beginning to grow weary he refreshed himself by picturing Lady Gwendolyn’s blush and smile, her well-feigned surprise, her delicious embarrassment, her mutinous grace, as she welcomed him to her “mansion.”
The train only stopped at a few of the largest stations; but at Preston there was a halt of ten minutes, and he went to get himself a biscuit and a glass of sherry. As he returned to the platform to regain his carriage, he ran up against a lady whose figure struck him as familiar.
Nothing could be simpler than this lady’s dress, and yet it was worn with an elegance that suggested strange possibilities to his mind, and made him follow the owner curiously. She seemed startled and annoyed by his scrutiny, although the thick Shetland veil she was wearing not only concealed, but distorted her features so much that it was impossible to recognize her, supposing even she had been the person he had come northward to seek.
But his suspicions had never taken that direction for a moment. This lady was taller than Lady Gwendolyn by at least a couple of inches, and there was a sort of insolence in her bearing which Colonel Dacre seemed to know only too well.
In spite of himself, he thought of Lady Teignmouth, and, wondering what mischief was hidden under this disguise, kept close to her heels. She quickened her pace, and presently, to his surprise, jumped into a third-class carriage.
A common man in the corner moved forward to make room for her, and evidently recognized her superiority, for he said, almost respectfully:
“Won’t you come here, miss? you’ll find it more comfortable.”
“Thank you, zir, I am sure,” answered the other, with an abominable accent. “Although, for the matter of that, bad’s the best.”