As soon as I had settled myself in my corner, I naturally took an observation of my companions. There were but two on my side of the carriage: an elderly and very provincial-looking lady; and opposite to her, and in the farthest corner from my own, a very young one, who at once arrested my attention. That she was quite a girl was very evident, though her face was almost concealed by one of those ugly blue veils which render the complexion livid, the hair green; but in this instance the actual shade of the latter was visible in the rich plaits which were coiled round the back of her head, and such golden-brown is sure to be accompanied by a skin as fair as that of the slender throat of which I just caught a glimpse. The figure was extremely petite and graceful, the dress perfectly plain, and the whole appearance so undoubtedly that of a young lady, that it seemed an almost incongruous circumstance that she should have in her lap a sleeping infant. The child—richly dressed in ample robes, and carefully veiled—was so small that I guessed it to be scarcely a month old.
Now we all know that there are women who adore babies, and it is possible that there are also some girls who are given to a predilection so incomprehensible to the masculine mind generally. I concluded that I beheld one of these wonders in my youthful fellow-traveller, as at any slight movement of her little charge, she soothed and hushed it in a truly maternal manner; while her companion (no doubt, thought I, the child’s nurse) was entirely occupied, as it seemed to me for want of something else to do, with a huge packet of sandwiches.
Presently our fast train stopped at Croydon. The elderly female prepared to alight; and having assisted her, I offered to hand out the young lady. To my great surprise she said: ‘Thank you very much, but I go on to Brighton.’
‘And baby too?’ I asked.
‘O yes!’ she replied. ‘I never trust him to any one else.’
I was sorely perplexed. Surely, surely she could not be the mother. The thought was preposterous. My curiosity was fairly roused, and I tried to beguile her into conversation on indifferent topics; but she was a discreet little person, and her replies were so monosyllabic, that we arrived at our destination without having become in the least better acquainted. However, as we entered the station, she did at last throw back the ugly veil as she looked somewhat anxiously from the window, and then disclosed to my admiring gaze one of the loveliest faces I had ever looked upon. She appeared to be about sixteen. Large dark eyes bright as stars, were shaded with long black lashes; a rosebud of a mouth, a small delicate nose ever so slightly retroussé, and the sudden blush which increased these charms, when I asked if she expected any one to meet her, made a powerful impression upon me then, and were destined, though I knew it not at the time, to affect my peace of mind and influence my future life.
I repeated my question before she gave her hesitating answer: ‘The fact is I do not expect any one, as my friends do not know that I am alone.’
‘Pray allow me then to help you with your luggage, or in any way.’
‘Thank you so much, but I have no luggage; the servants brought it all down yesterday.’ Then again blushing, she added: ‘If you would kindly call a fly, it will be all I shall require.’
Before handing her out of the carriage, I offered (I confess in much tribulation) to relieve her of the infant; but she exclaimed, laughing merrily: ‘O no; I really could not trust you for the world.’