"Very well, Miss. I’ll see what I can do," he said obligingly enough as he moved on through the doorway of the corridor. Isla feverishly began at once to gather her things together, and she had her dressing-bag in her hand and her rug over her arm when, in about eight minutes’ time, the guard returned. "There is one corner seat in the front of the train--two gentlemen and a lady in the compartment. One of them is going out at Crewe. So if you’d care to wait till then----" "No, thank you. I’ll go now," she said. The man, still further puzzled, made up his mind to come through later and take a look at the other occupant of the compartment, now absent. He gathered up Isla’s things and led the way to the front portion of the train. Isla felt that she was not particularly welcome in her new quarters. A woman, eating oranges, glared at her disagreeably, but at least she was left severely alone. She felt weak and limp after the strain of the morning, and all the afternoon every footfall in the corridor made her start, fully expecting to behold in pursuit of her the companion whom she had deserted. But she neither saw nor heard any more of her until they arrived at Euston and rubbed shoulders at the luggage barriers. Isla did not perceive her at first, and had just called out to the man that Mackinnon was the name on her box. At the sound of it Mrs. Bisley started back as if she had been shot, her vivid colour paled, and she put her hand to her side as if she felt some spasm. "Well, I’m blest!" she whispered inly to herself. "So that’s it! I might have known. Oh, Winnie Bisley, once more your long tongue has got you into trouble." She had the delicacy of feeling to wish to efface herself from Isla Mackinnon’s eyes, and yet she had a most insatiable desire to find out her destination. Remembering, however, that she had said she would sleep the night at the Euston Hotel she gave up the idea of discovery as impracticable. As Isla’s porter shouldered her trunk and she turned to follow him towards the hotel entrance she saw the woman again, and their eyes met. Mrs. Bisley did not even smile, but Isla, as she passed by her, paused for the fraction of a second. "I did not mean to be so rude as you may have thought, but my head ached dreadfully and I felt that I must get away to where it was not necessary to talk." "I quite understand," replied Mrs. Bisley. "Don’t apologize. I don’t take offence easily. I’m not that sort. You’re Miss Mackinnon, aren’t you?" "Yes." "It might have saved a lot of talk if you had told me your name at the beginning," she said a trifle drily. "But, after all, perhaps there isn’t any great harm done." "I hope not. You meant to be kind, I’m sure. Good night, Mrs. Bisley."