"You don’t see what I mean. If he’s Lord Ruddington, he knows that you’re Susan, and he can hardly help looking at you, though I must say he isn’t treating you as he would a lady. But when it’s a case of _you_ looking at him, it’s different. You see, you’re not supposed to have any idea it’s Lord Ruddington. All you’ve got to go by is ’a dreadful feeling’--which is nothing at all. So what must he think of you, when he sees you making eyes at a perfect stranger? He must think you’ve got glances and blushes for every man who chooses to stare at you." Susan did not see my point clearly. Indeed, the more I laboured it, the less clearly I saw it myself. Besides, if this was really and truly Lord Ruddington, my attempt at crediting him with superfine feelings was either hypothetical or ludicrous. "I’m very sorry, Miss," said Susan from the depths of her immeasurable docility. And then we got through another half-hour of pretending to look at magazines, while we were cunningly looking at the creature who was fixedly looking at us. When it became intolerable, I said to Susan: "I’m determined not to move. One mustn’t even seem to be beaten by such rudeness. But do, for goodness’ sake, put it out of your head that it can possibly be Lord Ruddington. What would Lord Ruddington be doing, travelling second-class?" "I suppose, Miss," answered Susan, so promptly that she must have already thought it out, "he’s come after Me. And he thought we shouldn’t guess it was him if he rode in the second-class." I suddenly felt that I had had heaps more than enough of the whole sordid business. I had felt for an hour that Susan knew a little more than she cared to admit. Probably she was right, and this was indeed Lord Ruddington. If so, everything was plain. This coarse-grained young rake’s desire of Susan’s country freshness and innocence was something even more detestable than the familiar infatuation of some weedy young lordling with a dressy and exuberant and altogether outrageous chorus-girl in town. I felt as if a rosy veil of illusion had been drawn away from life, and it almost turned me faint and sick. The worst of the affair was that Susan, with her wholesome instincts, was not revolted as she ought to have been, even by that which she did not understand. "Susan," I said abruptly, "I’m not at all satisfied. You keep talking about a dreadful feeling, which is all sheer nonsense. I feel perfectly certain you know something about that man down there that you haven’t told me." "The only thing, Miss----" "Why didn’t you tell me before?" "I didn’t think there was anything much in it, Miss." "What? In what?" "Only that he came out through that little gate when you were downstairs, Miss, changing the money. It was before they locked the gate--before the guard looked at the tickets, just after the boat started." "What did he say to you?"