"None whatever?"
"None whatever."
"But won't you be lonely by yourself in London?"
"A little lonely perhaps."
Being satisfied that she had found out everything about me, my travelling companion (probably from the mere love of talking) told me something about herself.
She was a fashionable milliner and had a shop in the West End of London. Occasionally she made personal visits to the provinces to take orders from the leading shopkeepers, but during the season she found it more profitable to remain in town, where her connection was large, among people who could pay the highest prices.
By this time we had reached Crewe, and as there was some delay in getting into the station, my travelling companion put her head out of the window to inquire the cause. She was told that a night train from Scotland was in front of us, and we should have to be coupled on to it before we could proceed to London.
This threw her into the wildest state of excitement.
"I see what it is," she said. "The shooting season is over and the society people are coming down from the moors. I know lots and lots of them. They are my best customers—the gentlemen at all events."
"The gentlemen?"