CHAPTER XXII. GRATITUDE.
“On se guérit de la bienfaisance par la connaissance de ceux
qu'on oblige.”
“Can you tell me if there is a moon to-night?” Mrs. Vansittart asked a porter in the railway station at The Hague.
The man stared at her for a moment, then realized that the question was a serious one.
“I will ask one of the engine-drivers, my lady,” he answered, with his hand at the peak of his cap.
It was past nine o'clock, and Mrs. Vansittart had been waiting nearly half an hour for the Flushing train. Her carriage was walking slowly up and down beneath the glass roof of the entrance to the railway station. She had taken a ticket in order to gain access to the platform, and was almost alone there with the porters. Her glance travelled backwards and forwards between the clock and the western sky, visible beneath the great arch of the station. The evening was a clear one, for the month of June still lingered, but the twilight was at hand. The Flushing train was late to-night of all nights; and Mrs. Vansittart stamped her foot with impatience. What was worse was Dorothy Roden's lateness. Dorothy and Mrs. Vansittart, like two generals on the eve of a battle, had been exchanging hurried notes all day; and Dorothy had promised to meet Mrs. Vansittart at the station on the arrival of the train.
“The moon is rising now, my lady—a half-moon,” said the porter approaching with that leisureliness which characterizes railway porters between trains.
“Why does your stupid train not come?” asked Mrs. Vansittart, with unreasoning anger.