During the greater part of her journey Miss Hart had the compartment to herself. By-and-bye fellow-passengers got in, who almost started back at the sight of the pale face of the girl, who sat with her veil thrown back, looking straight out of the open window.
There was a strange expression on her face; her brows were slightly drawn together, and the curves of her lips had a, weary and pathetic droop. She had taken off her gloves, and now and then she clasped her slender white hands together with a nervous, passionate tension. Then the look in her eyes became almost ugly, and her fellow passengers were uncomfortable as they watched her.
At the little country town of West Brockley, Miss Hart alighted. She had brought all her luggage in a small handbag, and now she walked to her destination. It was in the outskirts of the little town, and amongst a row of poor houses. She stopped at one of these, and entered by the open door. A woman met her in the passage.
"Is Mr. Hart within?"
"I don't know, madam, I'll inquire."
"No, don't do that. I'll go to him myself. He's at the top of the house, of course, as usual?"
"Why, as usual, madam? Mr. Hart has never been my lodger before."
"I know his ways. He invariably seeks the top."
"From no prejudice, madam. He seems a very quiet gentleman."
"Exactly. Treasure him, he is a valuable lodger. Now let me pass, please. I am going to seek him."