The question was decided for them by the young clergyman’s return. He came along the platform, an animated look in his face. “Miss Bonamy,” he said, stopping at the open door with his hand extended, “there is some one in the refreshment-room whom I think that you would like to see. Mr. Gladstone is there, talking to the Duke of Westminster, and they are both eating buns like common mortals. Will you come and take a peep at them?”
“I don’t think that we have time,” she objected.
“There is sure to be time,” Daintry cried. “Now, Kate, come!” And she was down upon the platform in a moment.
“The train is not due out for five minutes yet,” Lindo said, as he piloted them through the crowd to the doorway. “There, on the left by the fireplace,” he added.
Kate glanced, and turned away satisfied. Not so Daintry. With rapt attention in her face, she strayed nearer and nearer to the great men, her eyes growing larger with each step.
“She will be talking to them next,” said Kate, in a fidget.
“Perhaps asking him if he likes Downing Street,” Lindo suggested slyly. “There, she is coming now,” he added, as Miss Daintry turned and came to them at last.
“I wanted to make sure,” she said simply, seeing Kate’s impatience, “that I should know them again. That was all.”
“Quite so; I hope you have succeeded,” Kate answered drily. “But, if we are not quick, we shall miss our train.” And she led the way back with more speed than dignity.
“There is plenty of time—plenty of time,” Lindo answered, following them. He could not bear to see her pushing her way through the mixed crowd, and accepting so easily a footing of equality with it. He was one of those men to whom their womenkind are sacred. He took his time, therefore, and followed at his ease; only to see, when he emerged from the press, a long stretch of empty platform, three porters, and the tail of a departing train. “Good gracious!” he stammered, with dismay in his face. “What does it mean?”