For an instant Everard half rose to his feet, with an impulse to make himself known, but something held him back, and resuming his reclining attitude, with his hat over his eyes in such a manner that he could see without being himself seen, he prepared to watch the unsuspecting couple in front of him, and their flirtation, for it seemed to be that in sober earnest. Josey was all life and fun, and could scarcely keep still a moment, but turned, and twisted, and tossed her head, and coquetted with the doctor, who, with his arm on the seat behind her, and half encircling her, bent over her, and looked into her beaming face in the most lover-like manner. Just then the door at the other end of the car opened, and the conductor appeared with his lantern and demand for tickets. “I shall have to pay extra,” Matthewson said. “You ate so long that I did not have time to get my tickets.” “Nonsense,” Josey answered, in a voice she evidently did not mean to have heard, but which nevertheless reached Everard’s ear, opened wide to receive it, “Nonsense! This one,” nodding towards the conductor, “never charges _me_ anything; we have lots of fun together. I’ll pass you; put up your money and see how I’ll manage it.” And when the conductor reached their seat and stopped before it and threw the light of his lantern in Josey’s face, he bowed very blandly, but glanced suspiciously at her companion, who was making a feint of getting out his purse. “My brother,” Josey said, with a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes; and with an expressive “all right,” the conductor passed on and took the ticket held up to him by the man whose face he could not see, and at whom Josephine now for the first time glanced. But she saw nothing familiar in the outstretched form, and never dreamed who it was lying there so near to her and watching all she did. So many had left at Albany and so few taken their places that not more than half the seats were occupied, and those in the immediate vicinity of Josey and the doctor were quite vacant, so the young lady felt perfectly free to act out her real nature without restraint; and she did act it to the full, laughing, and flirting, and jesting, and jumping just as Everard had seen her do many a time, and thought it charming and delightful. Now it was simply revolting and immodest, and he glared at her from under his hat, with no feeling of jealousy in his heart, but disgusted and sorry beyond all power of description that she was his wife. Rossie had stood boldly up before him and asked him to marry her, but in her innocent face there was no look like this on Josey’s,—this look of recklessness and passion which showed so plainly even in the dimness of the car. At last something which the doctor said, and which Everard could not understand, elicited from her the exclamation: “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, and _I_ a married woman?”