“I—oh, no! I should like it very much. I mean I am sure it would be very nice.”
Feeling that my social powers were as yet in a very undeveloped condition, I subsided into silence, as he went on:
“I hope your friends will not be very uneasy?”
“Oh, dear no!” I assured him, with a pious conviction that I was speaking the truth.
“We shall arrive at Elberthal about half past eight.”
I scarcely heard. I had plunged my hand into my pocket, and found—a hideous conviction crossed my mind—I had no money! I had until this moment totally forgotten having given my purse to Merrick to keep; and she, as pioneer of the party, naturally had all our tickets under her charge. My heart almost stopped beating. It was unheard of, horrible, this possibility of falling into the power of a total, utter stranger—a foreigner—a—Heaven only knew what! Engrossed with this painful and distressing problem, I sat silent, and with eyes gloomily cast down.
“One thing is certain,” he remarked. “We do not want to spend three hours and a half in the station. I want some dinner. A four hours’ probe is apt to make one a little hungry. Come, we will go and have something to eat.”
The idea had evidently come to him as a species of inspiration, and he openly rejoiced in it.
“I am not hungry,” said I; but I was, very. I knew it now that the idea “dinner” had made itself conspicuous in my consciousness.