The woman looked down at her own black dress worn in memory of her husband who had died three years before, comparing her lot with that of the girl with closed eyes in the corner, and could not but wonder how it was that apparently she, a widow, and with a child to support, was happier than this well-dressed young lady.
Presently, as her little boy brushed unceremoniously past Meg, causing her to open her eyes, the woman ventured on a remark.
"I hope my little boy don't annoy you, Miss," she said. "He do get so restless travelling. I can't keep him quiet no how."
"I don't mind him," said Meg wearily. "Have you come far?"
"Just the other side of Elminster. I've been to see my father and mother," she added. "I've not seen them for six years and of course they've never seen my boy. May I make so bold Miss as to ask if you're going all the way to London?"
"Yes. I'm going to London," said Meg. "What kind of a place is it? I've never been there."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed the woman. "Why I've lived in London ever since I first went to service. I expect you'll have a good time. There's no end to see, what with pictures and cinemas and the like. I expect you've friends coming to meet you at the station, Miss."
"No. I've no one coming," said Meg.
The woman looked at her.
"I'm afraid you're in trouble," she said softly, for Meg had closed her eyes and was again leaning her head against the back of the carriage.