"He suffers sometimes," she answered, "but I do not think it is anything really serious."
"He will be all right by the time we get to the hotel," I declared.
"Very likely," she answered. "For myself, I think that I always feel a little nervous when I arrive at a strange place. I have never been here before, you know, and I could not help wondering, for a moment, what would become of me if my uncle were really taken ill. Everyone says that London is so big and cold and heartless."
"You would have nothing to fear," I assured her. "You forget, too, that your uncle has friends here."
We leaned over the barrier and watched the luggage being handed out of the vans and thrown on to the low wooden platforms. By my side a dark young man, with sallow features and pince nez, was apparently passing his time in the same manner. My companion, who was restless all the time, glanced at him frequently, or I should scarcely have noticed his existence. In dress and appearance he resembled very much the ordinary valet in private service, except for his eye-glasses, and that his face lacked the smooth pastiness of the class. For some reason or other my companion seemed to take a dislike to him.
"Come," she said to me, "we will move over to the other side. I think we shall get in quicker."
I followed her lead, and I saw her glance back over her shoulder at the young man, who seemed unaware, even, of her departure.
"I do hate being listened to," she said, "even when one is talking about nothing in particular!"
"Who was listening to us?" I asked.
"The young man next to you," she answered. "I could see him look up in that horrid stealthy way from under his eyelids."