The train drew up at the station, a small, flowery country station, and, opening the door, Juliet stepped lightly to the ground. Her carriage had been at the end of the train, and the length of platform stretched before her. A glance showed a solitary porter approaching the luggage van; one commanding figure of an unusually big man, in a tweed knickerbocker suit; and, farther off still, by the door of the booking-office, two ladies in navy-blue costumes, apparently awaiting the arrival of friends. At the extreme end of the train another door opened, and an elderly man carrying a bag made a heavy descent to the platform. The ladies stood motionless; the man in tweeds hurried towards where Juliet stood. She looked at him anxiously, met the glance of a pair of level brown eyes, and was instantly conscious of two things concerning his state of mind. He was embarrassed; he was also agreeably relieved. The next moment he was facing her, and was holding out his hand.
“Miss White?”
“Yes.”
“I am Antony Maplestone.”
“Oh!”
Juliet was conscious that her own sensations exactly duplicated those of her companion. She was embarrassed; she was also agreeably relieved, for if adventure were to be her portion, no girl could have wished for a more attractive stage manager to initiate her into her part. She stood blushing and smiling, wondering what to say next, subconsciously aware the while that, by placing his tall form between her and the end of the platform, Maplestone was designedly screening her from the scrutiny of the blue-robed dames.
“I have a dog-cart waiting,” he said hastily. “I’m going to drive you home, and explain things en route; my man will look after your boxes. Er—there’s just one thing—” The air of embarrassment grew more marked; a flush showed in his cheeks. “It’s a nuisance; there are two women over there—neighbours; I’m afraid I’ll be obliged to introduce you. Do you think, for a few minutes, until we can escape, you could manage to look a little—intimate?” His voice, his look, were so full of apology at the suggestion, that Juliet’s surprise gave way to amusement. She laughed, a bright girlish laugh, and said, “Certainly!” in crisp, matter-of-fact tones which were evidently a vast relief to her companion. He stepped quickly to one side, as if anxious that her smiling face should be seen by others besides himself, and led the way down the platform, inclining his head towards her with an air of deepest solicitude. “You have had a comfortable journey?”
“Oh, yes,” Juliet nodded gaily, responding readily to his cue. He wished her to talk, he wished the watching women to believe that this was no first meeting, but a reunion of friends. For some unknown reason it was necessary to his interests that they should receive this impression. Very well, then, it should be done. “Alice White” was not going to fail in the first call upon her.
“Oh, yes, quite comfy. I had a tea basket. China tea. Did you know you could get China tea in baskets? And a ducky little pot of jam, all to myself. Isn’t this station pretty? Such sweet flowers!”
They were close to the ticket office by this time. The man’s eyes flashed a look of gratitude and appreciation. He laid a light touch on her arm, and brought her to a stand before the waiting women.