“Why did you get into conversation with him?” Her lips scarcely moved. He had to listen acutely.
“I didn't. He pretended to have mistaken his compartment. I was crying. He saw.”
“Why were you crying?”
“Because of you.”
“And you told him?”
“Not exactly.”
“What did he say? I heard you laughing when I entered. How did he commence?”
“He said I was too beautiful to be unhappy—it's the way every man starts. Then he said that he'd recognized me, just as though he'd been looking for me always. And then he tortured me by wondering whether our paths had ever crossed.”
“And you answered?”
“Never—unless he'd seen me in America.” Hindwood fell silent. Without warning he leaped to his feet. Before he could escape, she was clinging to him.