Mrs. Sloane was quite sure Mr. Maitland would not think her rude. Then she turned to Miles, wondering what he would say. She knew exactly what Marcus would have said—about the hat.
“Happy young things,” said Miles, despatching them from his mind with a smile. Then he leant forward, as though some thought had suddenly struck him. “About those conditions you have exacted,” he said; “supposing certain contingencies should arise, must I—am I in honour bound—to leave this—person of whom you are very fond when I have seen her into the train that takes her on—you know where?”
“That was one of my conditions! You accepted it!”
“Yes, and I mean to abide by it—but supposing—I only say supposing—it is more than I can bear; the separation, I mean; may I at the last moment jump into the guard’s van, if I don’t let her know I’m on the train? It’s only a remote possibility, but I might feel unable to abide by your condition.”
“You promised to—”
“And I mean to—but if I give my word of honour I can’t break it—therefore, I only want your permission to do this in circumstances over which I might possibly have no control: if, let us say, she should look so beautiful that I lost my head—if by chance, let us say, she should smile at me—you know how she does smile—I suppose you do—! Well, may I use my own judgment? It only means that I shall be in the same train. I won’t speak to her or let her see me?”
“Under very exceptional circumstances—and I leave it to your sense of honour not to make them exceptional—you may travel in the guard’s van—without letting her know you are there.” And Mrs. Sloane, looking at him, shook her head as old women will do in affectionate despair at those young people of whom they most particularly approve.
XXII
The best man on the train may be the
guard in the van—make friends with him.