“Well, if I knew you preferred being singed, I'd have said-nothing about it. What's this station here? Where's your 'Bradshaw'?” “I have got no 'Bradshaw,' sir,” said I, with dignity. “No 'Bradshaw '! A bagman without 'Bradshaw'! Oh, I forgot, you ain't a bagman. Why are we stopping here? Something smashed, I suspect. Eh! what! isn't that she? Yes, it is! Open the door!--let me out, I say! Confound the lock!--let me out!” While he uttered these words, in an accent of the wildest impatience, I had but time to see a lady, in deep mourning, pass on to a carriage in front, just as, with a preliminary snort, the train shook, then backed, and at last set out on its thundering course again. “Such a stunning fine girl!” said he, as he lighted a fresh cigar; “saw her just as we started, and thought I 'd run her to earth in this carriage. Precious mistake I made, eh, was n't it? All in black--deep black--and quite alone!” I had to turn towards the window not to let him perceive how his words agitated me, for I felt certain it was Miss Herbert he was describing, and I felt a sort of revulsion to think of the poor girl being subjected to the impertinence of this intolerable puppy. “Too much style about her for a governess; and yet, somehow, she was n't, so to say--you know what I mean--she was n't altogether _that_; looked frightened, and people of real class never look frightened.” “The daughter of a clergyman, probably,” said I, with a tone of such reproof as I hoped must check all levity. “Or a flash maid! some of them, nowadays, are wonderful swells; they 've got an art of dressing and making-up that is really surprising.” “I have no experience of the order, sir,” said I, gravely. “Well, so I should say. _Your_ beat is in the haberdashery or hosiery line, eh?” “Has it not yet occurred to you, sir,” asked I, sternly, “that an acquaintanceship brief as ours should exclude personalities, not to say--” I wanted to add “impertinences;” but his gray eyes were turned full on me, with an expression so peculiar that I faltered, and could not get the word out. “Well, go on,--out with it: not to say what?” said he, calmly. I turned my shoulder towards him, and nestled down into my place. “There's a thing, now,” said he, in a tone of the coolest reflection,--“there's a thing, now, that I never could understand, and I have never met the man to explain it. Our nation, as a nation, is just as plucky as the French,--no one disputes it; and yet take a Frenchman of _your_ class,--the _commis-voyageur_, or anything that way,--and you 'll just find him as prompt on the point of honor as the best noble in the land. He never utters an insolent speech without being ready to back it.” I felt as if I were choking, but I never uttered a word.