“But—— Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, but I really was not anticipating a trip to Ostend quite so soon. Just now you talked of Paris.”
“And it may be Paris after all; only the Ostend boat goes first.”
“And time’s the essence of the matter. I see. Between this and the departure of the Paris train I run a risk of being arrested. That is to bring it very close.”
I was still, hardly knowing what to say. What she said was true; this was a case in which, at any moment, truth might decline to be trifled with. She, too, was silent. Leaning back in her own corner, as far as possible from me, she looked forward into the fog. Starting for the other end of the world at a moment’s notice was a commonplace event with me. An unexpected run to Brussels was to her a thing so strange as to be almost awful. I looked at my watch; called to the driver.
“Can’t you press on a little faster? We shall lose our train.”
“Why such hurry? Let us lose it.”
On that point we disagreed; I was not disposed to lose it. But I said nothing. The man whipped up his horse. Presently he began to insinuate his way into the station yard, which was blocked with vehicles. I saw that for him to thread his way between them would be a work of time. Moments were precious.
“Come!” I said. “Let’s get out. We shall reach the pavement quicker than he will, and the train is already due to start.”
We descended into the road. Picking our steps between the horses’ heads, we gained the station. I tore to the booking-office, she, laughing, close at my heels, as if the whole thing were a delightful jest.
“Two firsts to Brussels!”