"Barnaby!"
Tears were imminent in the emotional Irish voice.
"How do you do, Julia."—The man's tone was firm and hard.
"I knew you were in the train.... But with these gossiping wretches all round you!—I could not bear to meet you with them...."
"Don't waken my wife. She's tired."
His warning struck abruptly on her impulsive murmur. She sat down, rustling, unfastening the furs at her throat. The train had started again, and was speeding on.
In her far corner Susan stirred. This was the figure she had seen in the distance, the figure that Barnaby's friend had tried to block out from his attention. All Barnaby's friends must guess how hard it would be for him to meet her again, since he had once worshipped her.... Looking straight into the flying darkness, Susan tried not to see his profile reflected in it, tried not to watch his expression, inscrutable as it was.
"What fools we were!" sighed Julia.
"Regular fools," he said.
The girl drew a quick breath. She had thought she was beginning to know him, and still she could not guess if he spoke in irony or despair. She raised her head; fluttered the paper on her knee.—They must not think that she was asleep. And Barnaby looked at her.