On this fateful Monday the five o’clock train was miraculously punctual. At precisely two minutes to the hour its serpentine, many-jointed body rounded the bend of the line, gracefully and with dignity, being neither flurried nor dilatory in its smooth, gliding motion, emitting neither shrill whistle nor vulgar puffings, as some quite well-appointed trains do, thinking to force recognition of the length of their run and their hard-pressed punctuality by triumphant noise or most distressful breathing. It is true that the great engine gave vent to a soft, long-drawn sigh, and that its huge body seemed to pulsate slightly as the train ranged itself obligingly along the platform; but so unostentatiously, so obviously desiring not to attract attention, that it was to be supposed the monster’s heart really was a little delicate, occasioning palpitation and more or less exhaustion. A fair, curly head, unmistakably a Le Mesurier’s, had emerged from the window of a third-class compartment some ten minutes before the train was stationed, drinking in, with the usual rapacity, the sweet sun-warmed air; and presently, the bend rounded, a smile lighted the boyish face, as his eyes fell on a little figure in brown cotton gown and shady straw hat standing upon the platform. "Confound it all," muttered the youngest son of Hubert Le Mesurier—to whose memory, peace—"here I have been practising how to make a long face, for decency’s sake, and was really beginning to feel a bit low; and now the first glimpse of Hazel upsets it all, and away goes melancholy." Resisting a desire to fling himself from the train while it was still in motion, as was his custom, Teddie, awaiting his time, descended to the platform as one whose soul is heavy within him; and Hazel, her sunny smile checked at sight of her brother’s demeanour, came toward him sedately, in deference to his feelings. "How did she take it?" were Teddie’s first words, spoken in somewhat hollow accents. "Much better than you would think," Hazel responded, seeking to reassure him. "Of course, she hopes you will get some other employment quickly; and—and, of course, Teddie dear, she is rather troubled as to what it was, you know. She is naturally afraid that something rather serious may have occurred." Hazel linked her arm comfortingly within her brother’s, the while she apprised him of these circumstances. She did not attempt to persuade or coax his confidence, knowing that in his own good time he would tell her all. Teddie groaned. "You see," the girl continued, pressing the angular elbow to her side, and looking up into the moody countenance, "she can’t help thinking it rather—rather sudden: the dismissal, I mean. That is only natural, isn’t it, Teddie?" Hazel asked apologetically.