"There are your checks," said he; "be sure you don't lose them. Put them in your glove."
Lizzie gave a little scream of merriment.
"Mr. Littlefield, how can you? I've a reticule, Sir. But I really don't want you to stay."
"Well, I confess," said her companion.—"Hullo! there's your Scottish chief! I'll get him to stay with you till the train leaves. He may be going. Bruce!"
"Oh, Mr. Littlefield, don't!" cries Lizzie. "Perhaps Mr. Bruce is engaged."
Bruce's tall figure came striding towards them. He was astounded to find that Miss Crowe was going by this train. Delightful! He had come to meet a friend who had not arrived.
"Littlefield," said he, "you can't be spared from your business. I will see Miss Crowe off."
When the elder gentleman had departed, Mr. Bruce conducted his companion into the car, and found her a comfortable seat, equidistant from the torrid stove and the frigid door. Then he stowed away her shawls, umbrella, and reticule. She would keep her muff? She did well. What a pretty fur!
"It's just like your collar," said Lizzie. "I wish I had a muff for my feet," she pursued, tapping on the floor.
"Why not use some of those shawls?" said Bruce; "let's see what we can make of them."