Off went the train.
As already said, Mrs. Birdwood was a comely woman, and this the other traveller perceived, and was unable to take his eyes off her. If a cat may look at a king, then surely a commercial may gaze on a pretty woman! Mrs. Birdwood did not like it, and put up her hand to let down her veil; unhappily, in her hurry at leaving, she had forgotten her veil.
“Christmas coming soon,” said the gentleman; “a time of holly and mince-pies—and above all, of mistletoe! I think I know some one who would like to be under a mistletoe bush with somebody else, unnamed.”
“And I think,” said Mrs. Birdwood, “I know some one who would like to have a bunch of holly with which to whack into somebody else—unnamed!”
“Going any distance, miss?” asked the bagman.
“I don’t quite know where I am going,” inadvertently replied the runaway wife. Then she bit her tongue in vexation at having said what she had.
“Let me recommend Sandbourne,” said he confidingly. “A charming place—beautiful beach. Excuse me, I think the ticket you hold—ah! it is for Sandbourne. How happy a coincidence! I am going there as well. If I can be of any assistance with your luggage, command me.”
“I have none.”
“Indeed! Going to friends?”
She was silent. Tears came into her eyes—tears of mortification and anger.