CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.
A LONG JOURNEY.
It as little more than twelve months since I had started from the same station on the same route; but there was no Tardif at hand now. As I went into the ticket-office, Minima caught me by the dress and whispered earnestly into my ear.
"We're not to travel first-class," she said; "it costs too much. Mrs. Wilkinson said we ought to go third, if we could; and you're to pay for me, please, only half-price, and they'll pay you again when we reach the school. I'll come with you, and then they'll see I'm only half-price. I don't look too old, do I?"
"You look very old," I answered, smiling at her anxious face.
"Oh, dear, dear!" she said; "but I sit very small. Perhaps I'd better not come to the ticket-office; the porters are sure to think me only a little girl."
She was uneasy until we had fairly started from the station, her right to a half-ticket unchallenged.
The November night was cold and foggy, and there was little difference between the darkness of the suburbs and the darkness of the open country.