By-and-by, however, a sleepy-eyed porter lounged into sight, and she learnt that there would be a train in a few minutes. Shortly after his advent she was able to procure a ticket--a third-class ticket, which diminished the little sum in her possession by eight shillings and a halfpenny; and returning to the custody of her bag, she waited miserably till the line of carriages thundered into view. It was a wretched journey--a ghastly horror of a journey--but it did not seem particularly long; with nothing to look forward to, she had no cause to be impatient. Intermittently she dozed, waking with a start as the train jerked to a standstill and the name of a station was bawled. When St. Pancras was reached, her limbs were cramped as she descended among the groups of dreary-faced passengers, and the load on her mind lay like a physical weight. She had not washed since the previous evening, and she made her way to the waiting-room, where a dejected attendant charged her twopence. Then, having paid twopence more to leave the bag behind her, she went out to search for a room. A coffee-bar, with a quantity of stale pastry heaped in the window, reminded her that she needed breakfast. A man with blue shirt-sleeves rolled over red arms brought her tea and bread-and-butter at a sloppy table. The repast, if not enjoyable, served to refresh her and was worth the fourpence that she could very ill afford. Some of the faintness passed; when she stood in the fresh air again her head was clearer; the vagueness with which she had thought and spoken was gone. It was not quite five minutes to eight; she wished she had rested in the waiting-room. To be seeking a lodging at five minutes to eight would look strange. Still, she could not reconcile herself to going back; and she was eager, besides, to find a home as quickly as possible, yearning to be alone with a door shut and a pillow.