"It is of no consequence," she returned stiffly, drawing herself up. "Please do not trouble." In her present temper she would have rather endured any amount of discomfort than be indebted to that very officious, vulgar young man. "Oh, it is no trouble"--with beaming good nature. "Thank you, ma'am"--as the widow gloomily produced a pin--"I will soon have things ship-shape. There, miss, you are more comfortable now." But though Lilian thanked him with some outward show of civility, she was inwardly chafing under what she chose to consider his impertinent freedom of address. She had done her duty and thanked him, and now she meant to ignore his existence; but she had reckoned without her host. "Beg your pardon, miss," the brisk voice began again, "is your little dog a Yorkshire terrier? I never saw such a small one before." "Yes." Just this monosyllable and nothing more. She would keep him in his place; she was determined on that. "He's a real beauty, if I may make so bold. May I ask his name? I am a dog-lover, miss, and always was." "Her name is Musüme." "Eh, what?" A pair of bright blue eyes regarded her and the dog with some perplexity. "Musüme," dropped from Lilian's lips, but she frowned again. "Is that Latin, miss? It ain't a word I know." Then Lilian turned almost fiercely on her tormentor. "No; it is Japanese." But her manner was so repressive; it said so plainly, "How dare you address me in this familiar way?" that the young man flushed and looked a little disconcerted. This pretty young creature in the white dress had a decided temper. "Beg pardon," she heard him mutter. "No offence, I hope." But the next moment he was on his feet again. The dust was dreadful; he must close the window. They were coming to Layton tunnel; he hoped the ladies would not be nervous, for he had discovered there was no light. Here Lilian glanced furtively at the gas-lamp overhead. Even when they had entered the tunnel the voice was still audible at intervals. "Beg pardon, ma'am." He had evidently trodden on the fat woman's toes. "Great Scott!" as a shrill whistle nearly deafened them, and one of the young market-women called out: "Bless your heart, ma'am, they are only a-clearing the way. There is no call to be frightened. Makes you feel a bit jumpy in the dark, so it does. Here we are in the light again, and we are slackening for the station. Shall I put down the window for a moment, miss, just to give us an airing?" But Lilian took no notice, and the next moment the train stopped. The carriage seemed emptying. First the loutish lads and the surly man got out, then the labourer and the red-faced widow, the fat woman and the two young market-women followed, and yes--oh, the joy of it!--her red-headed tormentor was getting out too.