'Ah! you are English,' said she, her countenance languidly lighted up. 'So glad; for though I speak German pretty well, I don't understand the patois of the people hereabouts, on the borders of Holstein.'
Chute merely made an inclination of his head, and was about to throw his cigar out of the window, when she begged he would not do so; smoking never incommoded her—indeed, she rather liked it.
He thanked her, and they slid into the usual little commonplaces about the weather, the scenery, and so forth.
Though handsome, she was passée, and Trevor Chute could detect that she had in her manner much of the polished insouciance, the cultivated, yet apparently careless fascination of a woman of the world; and it soon became evident that she knew it, and the world of London too, in many phases.
Apart from the rank that was indicated by a coronet and monogram that were among the silver ornaments on her blue velvet Marguerite pouch, he felt certain that she was an Englishwoman of undoubted position, and was quite aplomb—even a little 'fast'—in her manner; but that amused Chute.
He could perceive that she was married, as a wedding hoop was among the gemmed rings that sparkled on her left hand—a very lovely one in shape and whiteness; moreover, she spoke of her husband, and said they were to take the branch line at Buchen for the Elbe, adding:
'Do you go so far?'
'Farther; to Lubeck—a place few people go to, and few come from.'
'Ah! And you travel——'
'To kill time.'