"The use of the possessive pronoun is entirely inappropriate."
"Which is she, by the way? There are three, are there not? How am I to know the person in whom I am to be interested?"
"By the interest."
"That will do!" said Mrs. Barclay, laughing. "But it is a very mad scheme, Philip—a very mad scheme! Here you have got me—who ought to be wiser—into a plan for making, not history, but romance. I do not approve of romance, and not at all of making it."
"Thank you!" said he, as he rose in obedience to the warning stroke of the bell. "Do not be romantic, but as practical as possible. I am. Good-bye! Write me, won't you?"
The train moved out of the station, and Mrs. Barclay fell to meditating. The prospect before her, she thought, was extremely misty and doubtful. She liked neither the object of Mr. Dillwyn's plan, nor the means he had chosen to attain it; and yet, here she was, going to be his active agent, obedient to his will in the matter. Partly because she liked Philip, who had been a dear and faithful friend of her husband; partly because, as she said, the scheme offered such tempting advantage to herself; but more than either, because she knew that if Philip could not get her help he was more than likely to find some other which would not serve him so well. If Mrs. Barclay had thought that her refusal to help him would have put an end to the thing, she would undoubtedly have refused. Now she pondered what she had undertaken to do, and wondered what the end would be. Mr. DilIwyn had been taken by a pretty face; that was the old story; he retained wit enough to feel that something more than a pretty face was necessary, therefore he had applied to her; but suppose her mission failed? Brains cannot be bought. Or suppose even the brains were there, and her mission succeeded? What then? How was the wooing to be done? However, one thing was certain—Mr. Dillwyn must wait. Education is a thing that demands time. While he was waiting, he might wear out his fancy, or get up a fancy for some one else. Time was everything.
So at last she quieted herself, and fell to a restful enjoyment of her journey, and amused watching of her fellow-travellers, and observing of the country. The country offered nothing very remarkable. After the Sound was lost sight of, the road ran on among farms and fields and villages; now and then crossing a stream; with nothing specially picturesque in land or water. Mrs. Barclay went back to thoughts that led her far away, and forgot both the fact of her travelling and the reason why. Till the civil conductor said at her elbow—"Here's your place, ma'am—Shampuashuh."
Mrs. Barclay was almost sorry, but she rose, and the conductor took her bag, and they went out. The afternoons were short now, and the sun was already down; but Mrs. Barclay could see a neat station-house, with a long platform extending along the track, and a wide, level, green country. The train puffed off again. A few people were taking their way homewards, on foot and in waggons; she saw no cab or omnibus in waiting for the benefit of strangers. Then, while she was thinking to find some railway official and ask instructions, a person came towards her; a woman, bundled up in a shawl and carrying a horsewhip.
"Perhaps you are Mrs. Barclay?" she said unceremoniously. "I have come after you."
"Thank you. And who is it that has come after me?"