"Marsland train, Miss! Last one left an hour ago—no other till 6.12 to-morrow morning."
"What do you mean? Oh! you didn't hear!—it's the train for Marsland I want."
"Afraid you won't get it then, Miss, till to-morrow. Didn't they warn you at Froswick? They'd ought to. This train only makes the main-line connection—for Crewe and Rugby—no connection Whinthorpe way after 8.20."
Laura's limbs seemed to waver beneath her. A step on the platform. She turned and saw Hubert Mason.
"You!"
Mason thought she would faint. He caught her arm to support her. The porter looked at them curiously, then moved away, smiling to himself.
Laura tottered to the railing at the back of the platform and supported herself against it.
"What are you here for?" she said to him in a voice—a voice of hatred—a voice that stung.
He glanced down upon her, pulling his fair moustache. His handsome face was deeply flushed.
"I only heard there was no train on, from the guard, just as you were starting; so I jumped into the next carriage that I might be of some use to you here if I could. You needn't look at me like that," he broke out violently—"I couldn't help it!"