"I can think of none more adequate." "Meaning that after my altogether too open display of curiosity regarding you, I can still do nothing better than guess, without any expectation that you, on your part, will deign to tell me whether I am right or wrong. Very well; my first guess is that you have not done much walking with young women on station platforms--certainly not much of late." "I'll try to do better, if you'll tell me how you know that?" "You do very well. I was not criticising you, and I don't have to tell why. Ask no questions; it is a clairvoyant diviner who is speaking." "Divinity?" "Diviner only. My second guess is that you have been abroad in far lands." "My railroad ticket showed as much as that." "Pardon me, if it seriously injures your self-esteem; but I was not sufficiently interested in you when you came aboard the train, to observe your ticket. What I know is divined from the exceedingly odd and reminiscent way in which you look at all things about you--at this train, this station, the people who pass." "You find nothing reminiscent, I suppose, in the way I look at you?" "You do yourself injustice. You do not look at me at all, so I cannot tell; but there could hardly be any reminiscence extending beyond this morning, since you never saw me before then." "No; this is all fresh experience." "I hope it is not displeasing. My doubt concerning your evidently rather long absence abroad is as to whether you went away to get or to forget." "I'm afraid I don't quite understand." "Those are the two reasons for which young men go to Asia, are they not?--to get something or to forget something. At least, so I have been given to understand. Shall I go on?" "Go on guessing, you mean? I don't seem able to prevent it." "Then my third guess is this--and you know no one is ever allowed more than three guesses." She hesitated; when she went on, she had entirely dropped her tone of banter. "I guess, Mr. Eaton, that you have been--I think, are still--going through some terrible experience which has endured for a very long time--perhaps even for years--and has nearly made of you and perhaps even yet may make of you something far different and--and something far less pleasing than you--you must have been before. There! I have transcended all bounds, said everything I should not have said, and left unsaid all the conventional things which are all that our short acquaintance could have allowed. Forgive me--because I'm not sorry." He made no answer. They walked as far as the rear of the train, turned and came back before she spoke again: "What is it they are doing to the front of our train, Mr. Eaton?" He looked. "They are putting a plow on the engine." "Oh!" "That seems to be only the ordinary push-plow, but if what I have been overhearing is correct, the railroad people are preparing to give you one of the minor exhibitions of that everyday courage of which you spoke this morning, Miss Dorne."