I arrived about eight-thirty that evening. Dr. Manning was at the train to meet me. He greeted me rather formally, I thought, for a man who had been so pronounced in his attentions in Jamaica.
As he was helping me into his carriage, Mr. Hamilton passed us, with other men.
"You forgot your dog," he said to me, smiling, and handed me a basket, in which, apparently, he had put my Verley. I had indeed forgotten my poor little dog! I thanked Mr. Hamilton, and he lifted his hat, and bade us good night.
Dr. Manning turned around sharply and looked after him. They had exchanged nods.
"How did you get acquainted with that chap?" he asked me. I was now in the carriage, and was settling Verley in his basket at my feet.
"Why, he spoke to me on the train," I said.
"Spoke to you on the train!" repeated the doctor, sharply. "Are you accustomed to make acquaintances in that way?"
My face burned with mortification, but I managed to stammer:
"No, I never spoke to any one before without an introduction."