ow；　here　we　were；　stiff　and　self…conscious　on　the　platform；　and　framed　in　the　window　of　the　railway…carriage　was　the　face　of　our　friend；　but　it　was　as　the　face　of　a　stranger—a　stranger　anxious　to　please；　an　appealing　stranger；　an　awkward　stranger。　“Have　you　got　everything？”　asked　one　of　us；　breaking　a　silence。　“Yes；　everything；”　said　our　friend；　with　a　pleasant　nod。　“Everything；”　he　repeated；　with　the　emphasis　of　an　empty　brain。　“You’ll　be　able　to　lunch　on　the　train；”　said　I；　though　the　prophecy　had　already　been　made　more　than　once。　“Oh；　yes；　he　said　with　conviction。　He　added　that　the　train　went　straight　through　to　Liverpool。　This　fact　seemed　to　strike　us　as　rather　odd。　We　exchanged　glances。“Doesn’t　it　stop　at　Crewe？”　asked　one　of　us。　“No；”　said　our　friend；　briefly。　He　seemed　almost　disagreeable。　There　was　along　pause。　One　of　us；　with　a　nod　and　a　forced　smile　at　the　traveler；　said　“Well！”　The　nod；　the　smile　and　the　unmeaning　monosyllable；　were　returned　conscientiously。　Another　pause　was　broken　by　one　of　us　with　a　fit　of　coughing。　It　was　an　obviously　assumed　fit；　but　it　served　to　pass　the　time。　The　bustle　of　the　platform　was　unabated。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　train’s　departure。　Release—ours；　and　our　friend’s—was　not　yet。

My　wandering　eye　alighted　on　a　rather　portly　middle…aged　man　who　was　talking　earnestly　from　the　platform　to　a　young　lady　at　the　next　window　but　one　to　ours。　His　fine　profile　was　vaguely4　familiar　to　me。　The　young　lady　was　evidently　American；　and　he　was