"Mrs. Cuthbert Grahame? You said just now that you were Mrs. Gregory Lamb." "I spoke without thinking. I telegraphed some instructions to the station-master in the name of Mrs. Cuthbert Grahame." "In the name of Mrs. Cuthbert Grahame? A body can't have two names." "I ordered a close carriage to meet Mrs. Cuthbert Grahame by the train before this, then, when I found I'd missed it, I sent a wire from Dundee to order the carriage to wait for the next." "There's no carriage within miles." "No carriage? Then what is there?" "There's what they call a fly." "And is the fly here?" "Sam Harris wouldn't let it come." "Who's Sam Harris?" "He's the man that owns it." "And pray why wouldn't Mr. Harris let it come?" "You'd better be asking him instead of me. He lives about two miles from here--perhaps a trifle over." "Two miles! Then is there nothing here to meet us?" "There's a cart." "A cart!--an open cart!--in this weather! What kind of cart?" "He was outside the gate when I saw him last, but maybe by now he's grown tired of waiting, and he's gone. If you go outside you'll be able to see for yourself what kind of cart it is better than I can tell you. Any way, you can't stop here; I'm off home. Tickets!--and if you haven't your tickets you'll have to pay your fare--that's all." The two passengers surrendered their tickets. With such dignity as she could muster the lady strode towards the little wooden gate, Mr. Luker following limply behind. He made no attempt to feign a sense of dignity which he did not possess. To judge from his appearance and his attitude he had not only sunk into the lowest stage of depression, but he was willing that all the world should know it. A very woebegone figure he looked: so tall and so thin, with the pronounced stoop; in the old familiar garments which he had worn for so many years in town, a costume which seemed singularly out of place on that spot just then; the frayed, shabby frock-coat, tightly buttoned up the front, the collar of which he now wore turned up about his chin; the trousers which were at once too baggy and too short; the ancient top-hat, which had seen so many better days. Outside the gate was what, in the semi-darkness, looked uncommonly like an ordinary farmer's cart, and not too comfortable, or cleanly, an example of its class. Mrs. Lamb stared at it in disgust. "Have you brought that thing for me?" As regards manners the driver seemed to be a near relation of the railway official's, if anything his were more pronounced. "I don't know who you are. How am I to know?" "I'm Mrs. Cuthbert Grahame of Pitmuir." "Oh; that's what you call yourself--ah!" "You appear to be an impudent fellow." "And you appear to be a free-spoken woman." "How dare you talk to me like that? I ask you again, have you brought this thing for me?"