These girls were too advanced in their ideas of dress for me. Nor did I feel at all at my ease during this conversation, which did not, however, appear to embarrass them. I proposed hastily to get a cab, but they demurred. It was such a lovely day, they preferred to walk, part of the way at least. I pointed out that there might be drawbacks to this amendment of my proposal. "What drawbacks?" Miss Metford asked. "For instance, isn't it probable we shall all be arrested by the police?" I replied. "Rubbish! We are not in Russia," both exclaimed. "Which is lucky for you," I reflected, as we commenced what was to me a most disagreeable walk. I got them into a cab sooner than they wished. At the railway station I did not offer to procure their tickets. To do so, I felt, would only give offence. Critical glances followed us as we went to our carriage. Londoners are becoming accustomed to varieties, if not vagaries, in ladies' costumes, but the dress of my friends was evidently a little out of the common even for them. Miss Metford was just turning the handle of a carriage door, when I interposed, saying, "This is a smoking compartment." "So I see. I am going to smoke--if you don't object?" "I don't suppose it would make any difference if I did," I said, with unconscious asperity, for indeed this excess of free manners was jarring upon me. The line dividing it from vulgarity was becoming so thin I was losing sight of the divisor. Yet no one, even the most fastidious, could associate vulgarity with Natalie Brande. There remained an air of unassumed sincerity about herself and all her actions, including even her dress, which absolutely excluded her from hostile criticism. I could not, however, extend that lenient judgment to Miss Metford. The girls spoke and acted--as they had dressed themselves--very much alike. Only, what seemed to me in the one a natural eccentricity, seemed in the other an unnatural affectation. I saw the guard passing, and, calling him over, gave him half-a-crown to have the compartment labelled, "Engaged." Miss Brande, who had been looking out of the window, absently asked my reason for this precaution. I replied that I wanted the compartment reserved for ourselves. I certainly did not want any staring and otherwise offensive fellow-passengers. "We don't want all the seats," she persisted. "No," I admitted. "We don't want the extra seats. But I thought you might like the privacy." "The desire for privacy is an archaic emotion," Miss Metford remarked sententiously, as she struck a match. "Besides, it is so selfish. We may be crowding others," Miss Brande said quietly. I was glad she did not smoke. "I don't want that now," I said to a porter who was hurrying up with a label. To the girls I remarked a little snappishly, "Of course you are quite right. You must excuse my ignorance."