“Oh!” said Hilderman, with renewed interest. “Glenelg?”
“I take the boat to Glenelg and then drive back,” I explained. I was in a mood to tell him just where I was going, and why, and all about myself; but I recollected, with an effort, that I was talking to a total stranger.
“Drive back?” he repeated after me, with a sudden return to his dreamy manner. Then, just as suddenly, he woke up again. “Where are we now?” he asked.
“Passing over Morar bridge,” I explained.
“Dear me—yes, of course!” he exclaimed, with a glance out of the window. “Well, I must pack up my wraps. Good-bye, Mr. Ewart; I’m so glad to have met you. Your country’s at war, and you look to me a very likely young man to do your best. Well, good-bye and good luck. I only wish I could join you.”
“I wish you could,” I replied heartily. “I shall certainly do my best. And many thanks for your kind assistance.”
And so we parted, and returned to our respective compartments to put our things together; for our journey—the rail part of it, at any rate—was nearly over. And it was not until long afterwards that I realised that he had called me by my name, and I had never told him what it was.