“We never met her before this journey,” added Maurice.
“That was what I said to myself when I saw you first,” said Wylie to Zoe. “Then her being named Smith was merely a coincidence?”
“Purely a coincidence,” said Zoe emphatically, and Maurice added, “You must think us a queer set.”
“Not at all,” returned Wylie politely and falsely.
“Oh, but you must!” cried Zoe. “I am sure, if we met ourselves, we should think we were the most extraordinary family that ever lived. But how can we help it?”
“One’s family is one of the things that have to be lived down,” said Wylie, with the kindest intentions, and went on to give instances in point from the history of people he had known, while Maurice and Zoe wished vainly that they could explain the true state of affairs—vainly, for how could they betray the history of their acquaintance with Eirene without her consent?
“It’s awful, Maurice,” lamented Zoe afterwards. “What will he think when he sees us separate at Therma, or if he ever meets her without us, or us without her? It will seem as if we had deliberately deceived him all along.”
But this was after they had arrived at the village, and accepted without enthusiasm the only quarters available. The Han, or inn, might have served satisfactorily to accommodate one or two sportsmen who did not mind roughing it, but now, invaded by a crowd of tired, hungry travellers, many of them bringing nothing but the clothes they wore, its resources were hopelessly overtaxed. The railway officials, securing Wylie, whose experience they recognised, as an ally, set to work to house their charges as best they could. The long loft which formed the upper storey of the inn was devoted to the ladies, and all the beds in the establishment—which were not above suspicion—were transferred thither, while rugs and sacks were requisitioned to provide couches for the men below. Bowls of coarse porridge, and platters of hastily boiled mutton, were forthcoming after a time, meal and a sheep having been commandeered from the neighbourhood, but there were no knives and forks, and spoons quickly ran short. Wylie shared in the abuse heaped upon the railway management, who ought, it appeared, to have provided a perfectly equipped hotel, with restaurant, hair-dressing saloons, bathrooms, and a large stock of borrowable clothing, at this particular spot, but he went on his way with a polite smile and unbending courtesy, arranging for breakfast on the morrow. Bare-footed, untidy girls, called in to help, fell over one another on the ladder-like staircase, or stood saucer-eyed to watch the “European” ladies and gentlemen, seated most uncomfortably on the floor, and grumbling over what seemed to Emathian minds a highly luxurious banquet. Hot water was absolutely unattainable, even if there had been cans to contain it, and the brushes and combs of such passengers as possessed them were passed from hand to hand for the benefit of the less fortunate. Zoe was happy in escaping early from the turmoil, for being in charge of Eirene, she was allowed to take her upstairs as soon as a bed could be prepared, and Maurice brought them a bowl of broth—or rather, water in which the mutton had been boiled—with pieces of meat floating in it. Eirene would eat nothing. While they sat outside the Han, waiting for the loft to be got ready, she had raised her head suddenly from Zoe’s shoulder, as if waking from a stupor, and demanded—
“Where is Evdotia Vladimirovna? I have not seen her.”
“I—I think she stayed behind, at the bridge,” stammered Zoe.