But she seemed absent and pre-occupied during their walk, though more cordial and affectionate in her manner to Helen than she had ever been before. CHAPTER XV. BETWEEN CUP AND LIP. Never in her life, perhaps, had Helen enjoyed anything so much as her afternoon's journey to London with Mrs. Lascelles. The smiling landscape on either side the railroad looked fairer, brighter, more like _home_ than ever, when seen under a glow of celestial light radiating from a happy heart. For her, that seemed a glory, shining direct from paradise, which was to her companion but a glare of heat and discomfort, dazzling, scorching--worse, unbecoming in the extreme. "It's good for the country, my dear, that's a comfort; but I'm sure it's fatal to one's complexion," said Mrs. Lascelles, vainly endeavouring to combine the shelter of a blind with the draught from an open window at forty miles an hour. "If they're to make hay when the sun shines, now's their time. How provoking! We shall have him in here. I _told_ the guard we wanted this carriage to ourselves. Dear Helen, can't you look as if you'd got the mumps?" But dear Helen was possibly not desirous of assuming so disfiguring a malady, for the unwelcome passenger put his head into their compartment, and, being a man of the world, sued in _formâ pauperis_ for an accommodation to which he was entitled by the purchase of his first-class ticket. He did _not_ say, "I have as good a right here as you, having paid my fare;" but, lifting his hat, stepped quietly in with a smiling apology for disturbing them. "The train is so full," said he, "I cannot find room even second class. I hope I shall not be much in your way." We all know how readily the sex are disarmed by cool audacity veiled under a respectful manner. The "odious creature" became "a pleasant gentleman-like man" on the spot, and Picard--for it was none other--so ingratiated himself with the ladies that, when he left them at Paddington, they burst forth simultaneously in praise of his appearance, his manners, his whiskers, his white hat, everything that was his. "Must be a foreigner," declared Helen. "He's so well-bred!" This, I have observed, is a favourite feminine fallacy, not to be exploded but by much continental travel in mixed society. "Must be _somebody_!" chimed in Mrs. Lascelles. "I am sure I know his face. I think he drives a drag. I declare, Helen, I'll bow to him if I meet him anywhere about." "So will I," said Helen; and forgot his existence forthwith. Was she not even now in the same town with Frank Vanguard--treading the same pavement, breathing the same air (and smoke)? "We'll have one turn for health in the Park," said Mrs. Lascelles, as the two ladies seated themselves in her open carriage. "You know you're in my charge to-day, Helen; and I mean to bring you out in what your papa calls the 'best possible form.' To-night, dear, I'm determined you shall win all your engagements!"