'Huston ... loves you.'
'And you,' she answered pertly, 'hate him! Why? Tell me why, Theo.'
'I hate no one in the world,' he answered. 'Not on principle, but because I have met no one as yet whom I could hate. There has invariably been some redeeming point.'
'And what is my husband's redeeming point?'
'His love for you,' answered Trist promptly, and with such calm assurance that his companion evacuated her false position at once, and returned to her original line of argument.
'I only had Brenda,' she murmured sorrowfully; 'and she is like you. She listens and listens and listens, but never gives any real advice.'
'If she had, would you have taken it?' suggested Trist.
The graceful shoulders moved interrogatively and indifferently.
'I suppose not.'
During the silence that followed, Trist looked at his watch, openly and without disguise. The journey, which was a short one, was almost half accomplished, and the train was now running at a breakneck pace through the level Suffolk meadows. Hardly a light was visible over all the silent land. There were no tunnels and no bridges, consequently the sounds of travel were reduced to a minimum. It is the petty local trains that make the most noise; the great purposeful expresses run almost in silence. In this, my brothers, I think we resemble trains in some degree. There are those among us who make little way upon Life's iron track with a great noise; and those who travel far are silent.