"He has learnt something about me somewhere and wanted to satisfy his curiosity," she thought; "perhaps he was going to make love to me," an idea which amused her, but did not appear in quite as repugnant a light as it might have done. Some whisper of personal vanity said that Count Odin was a man of the world and an exceedingly good-looking one at that. She began to see that all her fears might be mere shadows of misunderstanding--none the less, she persisted in her intention to return to Derbyshire. A sense of personal danger had been awakened; she fled from discovery before discovery could do her mischief. There was a train to Derby at half-past eight. Etta took a seat in the corner of a first-class compartment, which an obliging guard, bidding a porter keep watch upon it, insisted upon reserving for her. The porter, good fellow, drove off the besiegers, among whom were a parson with brown paper parcels and a fussy little man who always travelled in ladies' carriages because he could have the windows up, to say nothing of old maids and their dogs and younger maids without dogs. To these the man of corduroys politely pointed out the red bill upon the window; but when a cloaked foreigner, with a hawk's beak and watery eyes, a man who must have numbered at least ninety years, persisted in an attempt to enter, then was the ancient dragged back by the flap of his coat while the magic words "reserved" were shouted in his ears. "What you say--what--what--" the old fellow cried, exerting a surprising amount of strength for a nonagenarian, "not go in here, _accidente_!" "Higher up, grandfather," said the merry porter. "Saffron Hill goes forward--no parley Inglesh, eh--well, that's not my fault, is it?" He took the old fellow by the arm in a kindly way (for of the poor the poor are ever the best friends) and led him to a third-class carriage at the forward end of the train. "And a wonnerful strong old chap for his years, too, miss," he said to Etta when he returned for his shilling; "give me a shove like a young 'un he did. I shouldn't wonder if he ain't agoing to play in a cricket match by the looks of him. Did you want to send a telegram, perhaps? A surprisin' lot of telegrams I do send from the station. Mostly from gents wot has a fency for a 'oss. They takes a number horf of their tickets and backs the first 'un they sees with the same number in the noospipers. Not as I suppose you've any fency like that, miss--though young ladies nowadays do send telegrams almost as frequent as other people." Etta laughed at this idea, but, a sudden remembrance coming to her, she asked: "What time do we arrive at Derby, porter?" "You should arrive at a quarter to twelve, miss." "A quarter to twelve--oh, my poor little me, whatever will you do?" "Not meaning to say that you've forgotten to ask them to meet you, miss?"