That night I made up my mind to be an “old maid.” Nobody would ever want me I knew, I was so homely; and with calm resignation I thought how much good I would do in the world, and how I would honor the sisterhood! Very slowly the morning light came struggling in through the dirty windows, rousing the weary passengers, who, rubbing their red-rimmed eyes, looked around to see who their companions were. It was nearly noon when we reached Canandaigua, and so carefully had I kept my face hidden from view that Ada had no suspicion whatever of my presence. At Canandaigua I took leave of my companion, and stepping out upon the platform in front of the dépôt, looked anxiously around for Herbert, but he was not there. Thinking he would soon be there, I found my way to the public parlor, which for few moments I occupied alone. I had just removed my dusty bonnet, and was brushing my tangled hair, when the door opened, and I stood face to face with Ada Montrose, who started back, and for a moment evidently debated the propriety of recognizing me. Thinking she might do just as she pleased, I simply nodded, as I would to any stranger, and went on with my toilet, while throwing herself upon the sofa, she exclaimed, “Dear me, how tired I am! Do you live here?”
“Of course not,” I answered; “I am on my way to visit my sister Anna, whom you perhaps remember.”
She turned very red, and replied by asking if I were in the train which had just passed.
“Yes,” I answered; “I occupied the seat directly behind you and—your husband—is it not?”
I felt that I must know the truth, and hence the rather impertinent question, which, however, did not seem to displease her in the least. Affecting to be a little embarrassed, she said, “Not my husband—yet. He came on to Boston to accompany me home, and wishing to see a friend of his, who lives here, we have stopped over one train.”
I know not why it was, but her words gave me comfort; while at the same time the state of single-blessedness appeared to me far less attractive than it had a few hours before! I was on the point of asking her about my aunt, when the door again opened and there stood before us a slovenly-looking man, attired in a slouched hat, muddy pantaloons, grey coat, and huge cow-hide boots. So complete was the metamorphosis that neither of us recognized him, until he had exclaimed, as his eye fell upon Ada, “Good Heavens, Ade! How came you here?” Then we knew it was Herbert Langley!
So astonished was I that it was some time ere I found voice to return his rather noisy greeting. Try as he would, he could not conceal the fact that he was rather disconcerted at being seen by Ada in such a plight, and after a little he stammered out an apology, saying he was a farmer now, and lived in the country, and of course could not be expected to dress as he used in the city. This, I knew, was no excuse, and I trembled lest he might be changed in more points than one.
“How is your wife, Mrs. Langley?” asked Ada, in a mocking, deferential tone.
Instantly the whole expression of Herbert’s face was changed, and there was a look of tenderness and pride in his eyes as he advanced towards Ada, and whispered in her ear something which I did not understand. Whatever it was, it made her blush, as she replied rather sneeringly, “Of course I congratulate you.”
It has always been my misfortune to be rather stupid in some matters, and I had not the least idea what either of them meant, or why Herbert was to be congratulated. Possibly I might have asked an explanation, but just then the town clock struck the hour of one, and turning towards me, he said, it was time we were on our way, for the fall rains had made the roads almost impassable, and he was afraid we should not reach home before dark. “So put on your things quick,” he added. “The carriage is all ready.”