"Thank you," he answered, with courtly gravity, "and—and you did not mind _me_ driving you?" "No," she admitted graciously. The train beginning to move, she handed him, through the window, half her bunch of purple grapes, as an earnest of her favour; and Paul, reading in the resolute little face, that protest was useless, accepted the gift in meek gratitude. The short railroad journey was uneventful enough. The girl sat comfortably, immersed in papers. It is true, her mind was slightly distracted by their number; but when it had occurred to her to take them all with her to her uncle’s house, it mattered less what she read first, the distressful doubt, that she might be missing the best things, being thus overcome. The grapes she left untouched. Grapes, she argued, were not a fruit for persons in rude health like herself; they were essentially a delicacy for invalids. She would try to take them home for her mother; but if her uncle should chance to be specially fond of them, and she caught him eyeing them in wistful greed—why, then he should have them. Was not the poor man more than half an invalid? The well-contented guard passed with respectful salutation at every station, and lingered by her window—not intrusively or in any way causing offence, but in a manner that inspired confidence, and rendered communication easy, should his charge wish to say or ask anything. Generally it was a broad back that presented itself, a yard or two from the window. Hazel could not discover that he walked sideways, yet it was wonderful how the back was suddenly _there_; also was it marvellous how his numerous duties: seeing luggage in and out of the vans, the shouting of instructions, the assisting out and showing in of passengers, even the closing of doors left open by phlegmatic men or ladies in clean gloves, finally the waving of the green flag—all seemed to be efficiently accomplished in front of, or curiously near to, her own compartment. She had half a mind to give him the grapes: he looked so very warm; but upon reflection she came to the conclusion that a glass of beer, in which he might indulge at the cost of a very small diminution of Paul’s tip, would be a more appropriate refreshment for a hot railway guard than grapes, and in all probability more to his taste. Besides, her mother, even her uncle, would appreciate them more. At Paddington Station the guard could not do enough for her. He seemed quite distressed that more was not required of him, and inclined to think Thomas, Mr. Desborough’s footman, officious! He was gratified, however, with the girl’s prettily expressed thanks for his care of her, and by her friendly little nod of farewell.