"No, none. Let me see; it starts at 5.30. An hour to wait, I believe."
"Not quite, sir; you're late a bit. It isn't often the express loses a minute, but she's five minutes late to-day."
The traveller took out his watch to compare it with the great station-clock, and then followed the porter up the steps to the bridge. Arrived at No. 5, he dismissed the man, who departed with a beaming countenance, as he pocketed double the sum which he had expected to receive.
For some minutes the young man, for he was not more than twenty-five, paced the platform restlessly. He was impatient of the delay, and the noise and racket of the station jarred upon his nerves. The shriek of an approaching train, the rattle of a departing one, the rumble of the porters' trucks, the shouting of the newspaper boys, the ceaseless rush of people in all directions, tired him that day, he hardly knew why. He had not come from the country, and he was accustomed to London streets and London stations; he did not mind noise at other times, but to-day he felt as if he could not stand the discordant sounds for another hour. He resolved to leave the station, and to take a walk in the city until it was time for his train.
He left his bag at the Midland Luggage Office, climbed the long flight of steps in the midst of a continuous stream of people, passed with them a similar stream pouring downwards into the station, and then made his way to the street beyond.
As he did so, more than one person turned to look at him. He was a man who, even in a crowd, attracted attention. Tall and well built, he was every inch a soldier; his profession was patent to all who saw him; but it was not that which caused the passers-by to notice him, and to look after him as he walked on. It was not so much his upright manly figure, as his extremely handsome face, with its refined features, which made him a marked man. His dark hair, hazel eyes, long eyelashes, aquiline nose, and short upper lip, gave him a decidedly aristocratic appearance, which could not fail to strike the most casual observer.
"One of the upper ten, I should say!" remarked one man to another, as he crossed the station yard and turned into Corporation Street.
The shop windows were all lighted up, for it was December, and quite dark at half-past four. The street was crowded, for it was close upon Christmas, and multitudes of people, men, women, and children, were doing their Christmas shopping, or gazing idly into the brilliantly illuminated windows. But in spite of the crowds, he was glad he had come, for there were none of the discordant sounds of the station, and the keen air was refreshing to him after its close atmosphere.
A row of flower-sellers stood in the road at the edge of the pavement, and he stopped to buy a bunch of violets from a girl who looked tired and cold. He did not want the violets, but he was touched by her face, and he gave her three times the price that she asked for them.
Then he turned into the Arcade, which was a blaze of electric light. All the shops were displaying choice and attractive articles suitable for Christmas presents. In a niche in the wall, near one of the toy-shops, there stood on a pedestal an old man. He was dressed in red cloth, trimmed with swansdown, with long white hair and beard, and with a cocked hat on his head. He was supposed to represent Father Christmas, and he, too, looked cold and tired as he stood, motionless as a waxwork figure, taking no notice of the busy scene around him. A group of children had gathered at the foot of the pedestal, and were looking up in his face with admiring glances, hoping to beguile him to fill their stockings on Christmas Eve with all the pretty things their hearts desired.