His elation was a little dazed at the sight of Mrs. Regan, who, running up to him, clasped him by both hands, and whose appearance was scarcely calculated to impress bystanders with admiration. This worthy old person, who was of Hibernian descent, and had what is known amongst her countrymen as a 'potato' face, was dressed in a voluminous chintz gown, like bed furniture, and, slung on her arm, carried a check wicker basket, like a soft chess-board, with what was obviously the neck of a bottle protruding from it. He was gratified, however, by the appearance of Mr. Cooington, who, with a feeling that he was about to spend ten days on the ocean, arrived at Euston Station in a yachting costume, a straw hat with a very narrow brim, and a ribbon with 'Plover' in gold letters round it. Mr. Skyrmshire, the low-comedy man, had apparently adopted some of his theatrical wardrobe for travelling purposes, and consequently arrived in a suit of such enormous stripes, that in it he looked like a zebra on his hind legs. He was a practical as well as a poetical humourist too, and combining jocosity with business, carried about with him a number of small labels, printed 'Go and hear Skrymshire, the brilliant Momus,' and gummed at the back, with which he adorned the velveteen jackets of all the porters with whom he came in contact. And then Mr. Foster arrived, and then Miss Montressor, looking very pretty, and dressed with great simplicity and good taste. Mr. Duval offered her his arm, and led the way to the saloon carriage, the others following. Then rushed out to take a last look that the baggage was all safe, to compliment the inspector and tip the porters, and returned. A whistle, a shriek, Mr. Skrymshire said, 'Give him his head, John,' Mrs. Regan breathed hard and cried, 'Now we're off,' the train moved on a little, and then stopped. A porter put his head into the carriage in which the actor's party had already begun to lean back, and realise the fact that they had started, and inquired whether the gentleman who owned the portmanteau left at the station an hour ago, and which he had just put into the van, according to orders, was there. The occupants of the carriage glanced at each other, shook their heads in a general negative, and Bryan Duval answered for them, 'No, the gentleman was not there.' 'Beg pardon, gentlemen,' said the porter, 'but I can't find the owner of the portmanteau.' 'And you want your tip, I suppose?' said Bryan Duval, in an undertone, to the man, who was standing on the step of the carriage, with his hands on the door. 'No, sir, I don't,' said the man; 'the gentleman paid me to look after the portmanteau. I only wanted to make sure that he was here, so as it shouldn't go amongst missing luggage, but I can't find him--he isn't in the train.' He fell back, made a sign to the guard, and the train moved on this time, to pursue its way unbrokenly.