"Victoria Station, to be sure. It's the one I come by. Isn't it the big station for all parts?"
"Bless you! no," said Geoff. "There are six or seven as big as it in London. What line is this place on?"
"That's more nor I can say," said the stranger, looking as if he would have scratched his head to help him out of his perplexity if he had had a hand free. But he had not, for he had caught up the bag, and was walking along beside Geoff, and under his arm he carried a very substantial alpaca umbrella. And in the interest of the conversation Geoff had scarcely noticed the way in which the stranger had, as it were, attached himself to him.
"Ah, well! never mind. I'm going to Victoria myself, and when we get there I'll look up your place and find you your train," said Geoff, patronizingly.
He had kept looking at the stranger, and as he did so, his misgivings disappeared.
"He is just a simple country lad," he said to himself. And, indeed, the young man's blue eyes, fresh complexion, and open expression would have reassured any but a most suspicious person.
"You're very kind, sir," he replied. "You see, London's a big place, and country folk feels half stupid-like in it."
"Yes, of course," said Geoff. "For my part, I often wonder any one that's free to do as they like cares to live in London. You're a great deal better off in the country."
"There's bads and goods everywhere, I take it, sir," said the young man, philosophically.