England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Mate selection -- Fiction
another planet, but on the old-fashioned earth, dominated by men, and
where she shrank from being seen or recognized. She put her veil down
over her face as she stole in, once more feeling like a thief, at the
wooden gate. Two or three people only, all of the working class, were
kicking their heels on the little platform. Rose took her ticket with
much trepidation, and stole into the quietest corner to await the
arrival of the train. It came up at last with a great commotion, the one
porter rushing to open the door of a carriage, out of which, Rose
perceived quickly, a gentleman jumped, giving directions about some
luggage. An arrival was a very rare event at so early an hour in the
morning. Rose went forward timidly with her veil over her face to creep
into the carriage which this traveller had vacated, and which seemed the
only empty one. She had not looked at him, nor had she any curiosity
about him. The porter, busy with the luggage, paid no attention to her,
for which she was thankful, and she thought she was getting away quite
unobserved, which gave her a little comfort. She had her foot on the
step, and her hand on the carriage door, to get in.
“Miss Damerel!” cried an astonished voice close by her ear.
Rose’s foot failed on the step. She almost fell with the start she gave.
Whose voice was it? a voice she knew--a voice somehow that went to her
heart; but in the first shock she did not ask herself any questions
about it, but felt only the distress and terror of being recognized.
Then she decided that it was her best policy to steal into the carriage
to escape questions. She did so, trembling with fright; but as she sat
down in the corner, turned her face unwittingly towards the person,
whoever it was, who had recognized her. He had left his luggage, and was
gazing at her with his hand on the door. His face, all flushed with
delight, gleamed upon her like sudden sunshine. “Miss Damerel!” he cried
again, “you here at this hour?”
“Oh, hush! hush!” she cried, putting up her hand with instinctive
warning. “I--don’t want to be seen.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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