Her smile was of answering good will, and he had time to observe that the honest gray eyes were deep wells of innocent frankness; and when she made answer, there was something in her speech to tell him that she was neither of the outspoken West nor of the self-contained East.
“It was kind of you to think of me,” she said. “But I think I needn’t trouble you.”
“Don’t call it trouble—it will be a pleasure,” he insisted; and when she had made room for him on the opposite seat he sat down.
“We are very late, are we not?” she asked.
“So late that we are not likely to get in before night, I’m afraid. A freight wreck and a hot box, the porter says.”
“I thought something was the matter. The train has been stopping all through the night, and I could hear them working at the car every time I awoke.”
“I heard them, too,” said Brant, though his memory of the stoppages was of the vaguest. “It didn’t impress me at the time, but it does now. I’m hungry.”
She laughed at this, and confessed a fellow-feeling.
“So am I; and I was just hoping for two things: a good breakfast, and time enough to enjoy it.”
“We are pretty sure of the first, because the Van Noy people always set a good table; but as to the time, our being so late will probably cut it short. If you please, we’ll go out to the front platform and so be ready to get in ahead of the rush.”