If Heathcote had been there, he might have answered that he tried to, but never succeeded. He was not there, however; and Anne could only reply that she did not know. "He has undoubtedly that air," said Jeanne-Armande, faithful to her distinguished escort, and waving away all diversions in favor of unknown Dexters. "Do you know when they are to be married?" "No," said Anne, drearily, looking now at the cliffs which bounded the narrow valley through which the train was rushing. "Let us hope that it will be soon; for life is short at best. Though not romantic by nature, I own I should be pleased to possess a small portion of the wedding cake of that amiable pair," pursued Jeanne-Armande, fixing her eyes upon the suspended lamp of the car, lost in sentimental reverie. "I think I will buy a newspaper," said Anne, as the train-boy came toward them. "Buy a paper? By no means," said mademoiselle, descending hastily to earth again. "I have yesterday's paper, which I found on the ferry-boat. It is in good order; I smoothed it out carefully; you can read that." She produced it from some remote pocket, and Anne took refuge in its pages, while Jeanne-Armande closed her eyes under the helmet, no doubt to meditate further on the picture of felicity she had called up. Anne felt all the weariness of long suspense. It was one o'clock; it was half past one; it was nearly two; still he did not appear. Even mademoiselle now roused herself, looked at her watch, and in her turn began to ask where he could be; but she had the comfort of asking it aloud. The speed was now perceptibly slackened, and the brakeman announced at the door: "Cen--ter--ville. _Twen_--timinets for dinner," in a bar of music not unlike a hoarse Gregorian chant. At this instant Heathcote entered from the next car. "Ah! there he is," said mademoiselle, with satisfaction. "Do you think he will partake of a little taste with us?" He joined them, and she repeated her question in the shape of a modest allusion to the contents of her basket. "No, thanks; I shall go out and walk up and down to breathe the air. But first, will you not go with me, and see what they have? Perhaps we might find something not altogether uneatable." Mademoiselle declined, with her most gracious smile. She would content herself with the contents of her basket; but perhaps Anne-- The eastward-bound train was in, drawn up beside them. "Yes," said Anne, "I should like to go." Then, as soon as they were in the open air, "I only wish to speak to you for a moment," she began. "I shall not go to the dining-room." "Take my arm, then, and we will walk up and down." "Yes, let us walk," she said, moving onward. "We can not walk well unless you take my arm." "I do not wish to walk well," she answered angrily. He never would act according to her plan or theory. Here was all this persistence about a trifle, while she was wrought up to matters of deep moment.