"I took the seats long ago--two nice window seats in a third-class carriage. Your friend the 'pepper-pot' has duly deposited my wraps in one, and my dressing-bag in the other, and is now mounting guard in case of accident. You have plenty of time to have a cup of coffee at Spiers & Pond's." In a few minutes they seated themselves in the carriage, dismissed the "pepper-pot," and launched into earnest conversation. Not till the train was starting did Mona raise her eyes, and then they alighted on a friendly, familiar figure, At the extreme end of the platform stood the Sahib. All unaware that she was in the train, he was waving his hat to some one else, his fine muscular figure reducing all the other men on the platform, by force of contrast, to mere pigmies. When Mona saw him it was too late even to bow, and she turned away from the window, her face flushed with disappointment. "Oh, Doris," she said, "that was the Sahib!" "And who," asked Doris, "may the Sahib be?" "A Mr Dickinson. I saw a good deal of him in Norway this summer. He is a great friend of the Munros, you know. Such a good fellow! The sort of man whom all women instinctively look upon as a brother." "The type is a rare one," said Doris coldly, "but I suppose it does exist." The conversation had struck the vein of her cynicism now, though the men who knew "the lily maid" would have been much surprised to hear that such a vein existed, and, most of all, to hear that it lay just there. "I don't think any of us can doubt that there is such a type," said Mona. "Certainly no one doubts it who has the privilege of knowing the Sahib." Doris did not answer, and they sat for some time in silence, the line on Mona's brow gradually deepening. "Dearest," said Doris at last, "I don't bore you, do I? You would not rather be alone?" Mona laughed. "What will you do if I say 'Yes'?" she said. "Pull the cord and pay the fine? or jump out of the window? My dear, I could count on the fingers of one hand the times when you have bored me, and I am particularly glad to have you to-day. I should fret myself to death if I were alone, between anxiety about Lucy, and vexation at having missed the Sahib." Doris's face clouded. "Mona dear, I do wish the Munros had stayed in India till you had got on the Register. I don't approve of men whom all women instinctively look upon as brothers. Marriage is perfectly fatal to students of either sex." "Marriage!" said Mona, aghast. "Marry the Sahib! My dear Doris, I would as soon think of marrying you!" "I wish you would," said Doris calmly; "but I would not have a word to say to you till you had got on the Register. Oh how lovely!" The train had emerged on the open coast, and every line and curve on creek and cliff stood out sharp and clear in the crisp light of the October morning.