As the train drew up to the platform Bessie jumped out, and stood eagerly looking about her for the lady whom she expected to see, and she was much surprised when a gentlemanly looking man approached her, and lifting his hat, said, with a pleasant smile:
“I believe I am addressing Miss Lambert.”
“Yes, certainly; that is my name,” returned Bessie, in rather an embarrassed manner.
“Ah, that is all right, and I have made no mistake. Miss Lambert, my mother is so seriously indisposed that she was unable to meet you herself, but you must allow me to offer my services instead. Now I will look after your luggage, and then I will find you a cab. Will you come with me, please? The luggage is at the other end.”
“I am so sorry to trouble you,” returned Bessie. “I have only one box—a black one, with ‘E. L.’ on the cover.” And then she stood aside quietly, while Mr. Sinclair procured a porter and identified the box; and presently she found herself in a cab, with her escort seated opposite to her, questioning her politely about her journey, and pointing out different objects of interest on their way.
Bessie’s brief embarrassment had soon worn off; and she chatted to her new companion in her usual cheerful manner. She liked Mr. Sinclair’s appearance—he looked clever, and his manners were quiet and well bred. He did not seem young; Edna had told her that he was thirty but he looked quite five years older.
“I wonder how you recognized me so quickly?” Bessie observed presently.
“It was not very difficult to identify you,” he returned quietly. “I saw a young lady who seemed rather strange to her surroundings, and who was evidently, by her attitude, expecting some one. I could tell at once you were not a Londoner.”
“I am afraid I must have looked very countrified,” returned Bessie, in an amused tone.
“Pardon me, I meant no such invidious comparison. People from the country have an air of greater freshness about them, that is all. You live at Cliffe, do you not? I was never there, but it is rather an interesting place, is it not?”