The moors were vast unbroken plains of virginal whiteness, and the woods looked black against a steely sky as Hurstmanceaux got into the express which had been signalled by telegram to stop for him at the little station outside the park of a country house at which he had been staying in the North Riding. The engine snorted, hissed and flung up steam and fire into the chilly air as he hastened across the platform. He got quickly into the carriage indicated to him by his servant, pushing his dog before him, and the train had moved off before he saw that there was a lady in the compartment, to whom he lifted his Glengarry cap with a word of apology for the presence of his collie. “I am very fond of dogs,” said the lady with a smile, and the collie smelt the hem of her gown and the fur of her cloak with approval. “Thanks!” said his master, and, as he looked at her, thought how “well-groomed,” in his own vernacular, she was. She did not belong to the county he felt sure. He had never seen her before, and he knew all the Ridings well. She was plainly dressed in dark cloth; but the sables lining her cloak were of the finest; her gloves were of perfect fit and texture; her buttoned velvet boots were admirably made; she had a little velvet toque on a shapely head; she had an air of great distinction and simplicity combined. She resumed the perusal of her book, and he unfolded a morning paper. The train swung on its way at great speed. The dog, Ossian, lay down in the middle of the carriage. The glass of the windows was silvered with hoar-frost; nothing was to be seen out of them of the country through which they were being hurried. The snow fell continually; there was no wind. Ossian, waking out of his nap and yawning, much bored, began the conversation by laying his muzzle on the lady’s knees. “Pray forgive him!” said his master. “There is nothing to forgive. What a beauty he is!” “He is as good as he looks. But perhaps he ought to apologize for being here.” “Why?” “Well, really, I do not know why; but it is expected that a dog’s owner should say so.” “Only when he writes to the _Times_,” said the lady, amused. “In point of fact, it is I who am in the wrong place, for this is a smoking-carriage.” Ossian having thus broken the ice between them they continued to talk, of the weather, of the news of the day, of the book she had brought with her, of dogs in general, and of the collie in particular. They were neither of them very talkative by temperament, or disposed to be communicative usually, but they got on very well together. He shifted his seat to the corner in front of her, and they continued to skim over a variety of subjects, harmoniously and agreeably to both, as the train glided over the frozen ground, scattering the fine white powder of the snow in front of it. “How fast it snows!” said the lady rather anxiously, trying to rub the pane of glass nearest her clear with her handkerchief.