I turned to her open-mouthed. She was consulting a wrist-watch and did not see the look on my face. Friars Rory was where I was bound for. We had run through the station ten minutes ago. I knew the place well. I had just time to recover, when she looked up.
"We're late now," she said. "I expect that's why we're going so fast."
"You know," I said, "I don't believe you asked either."
"If this was the right train? Well, I've used it, going down to hunt, for two seasons. Besides, I told a porter—"
"Can't have understood what you said," said I, producing my cigarette-case. "Will you smoke? There's plenty of time."
"What d'you mean?"
"I was going to Rory, too. My dear, if this train really stops there, there must be the very deuce of a hairpin corner coming, or else we're on the Inner Circle. We've passed it once, you know, about nine miles back, I should think. No, twelve. This is Shy Junction." We roared between the platforms. "Wonderful how they put these engines along, isn't it?"
But my companion was staring out of the window. The next moment she swung round and looked at me wildly. Gravely I offered her a cigarette. She waved me away impatiently.
"Have we really passed Rory?" she said.
"Ages ago," said I. "Your porter can't possibly have under—"