_Miss Galbraith_, mortified, yet anxious: “Well?” _Mr. Richards_: “Well, until they miss us, and run back to pick us up, I shall be obliged to ask your indulgence. I will try not to disturb you; I would go out and stand on the platform, but it’s raining.” _Miss Galbraith_, listening to the rain-fall on the roof: “Why, so it is!” Timidly, “Did you notice when the car stopped?” _Mr. Richards_: “No.” He rises and goes out at the rear door, comes back, and sits down again. _Miss Galbraith_, rises, and goes to the large mirror to wipe away her tears. She glances at Mr. Richards, who does not move. She sits down in a seat nearer him than the chair she has left. After some faint murmurs and hesitations, she asks, “Will you please tell me why you went out just now?” _Mr. Richards_, with indifference: “Yes. I went to see if the rear signal was out.” _Miss Galbraith_, after another hesitation: “Why?” _Mr. Richards_: “Because, if it wasn’t out, some train might run into us from that direction.” _Miss Galbraith_, tremulously: “Oh! And was it?” _Mr. Richards_, dryly: “Yes.” _Miss Galbraith_ returns to her former place, with a wounded air, and for a moment neither speaks. Finally she asks very meekly, “And there’s no danger from the front?” _Mr. Richards_, coldly: “No.” _Miss Galbraith_, after some little noises and movements meant to catch Mr. Richards’s attention: “Of course, I never meant to imply that you were intentionally careless or forgetful.” _Mr. Richards_, still very coldly: “Thank you.” _Miss Galbraith_: “I always did justice to your good-heartedness, Allen; you’re perfectly lovely that way; and I know that you would be sorry if you knew you had wounded my feelings, however accidentally.” She droops her head so as to catch a sidelong glimpse of his face, and sighs, while she nervously pinches the top of her parasol, resting the point on the floor. Mr. Richards makes no answer. “That about the cigar-case might have been a mistake; I saw that myself, and, as you explain it, why, it was certainly very kind and very creditable to—to your thoughtfulness. It _was_ thoughtful!” _Mr. Richards_: “I am grateful for your good opinion.” _Miss Galbraith_: “But do you think it was exactly—it was quite—nice, not to tell me that your brother’s engagement was to be kept, when you know, Allen, I can’t bear to blunder in such things?” Tenderly, “_Do_ you? You _can’t_ say it was?” _Mr. Richards_: “I never said it was.” _Miss Galbraith_, plaintively: “No, Allen. That’s what I always admired in your character. You always owned up. Don’t you think it’s easier for men to own up than it is for women?” _Mr. Richards_: “I don’t know. I never knew any woman to do it.” _Miss Galbraith_: “Oh, yes, Allen! You know I _often_ own up.” _Mr. Richards_: “No, I don’t.” _Miss Galbraith_: “Oh, how can you bear to say so? When I’m rash, or anything of that kind, you know I acknowledge it.” _Mr. Richards_: “Do you acknowledge it now?”