Mr. Goddard bowed, and murmured that he felt it a pleasure and an honour to make Mr. Dick’s acquaintance. “This,” said Mr. Dick, “is Mr. Sanders. Sorrowful Sanders we call him, on account of the expression of his face. He’s not in the Cabinet either; but he soon will be.” He caught Mr. Goddard by the arm and whispered a clearly audible aside. “He’s a Scot, and that’s nearly the same thing, you know.” “Shut up, Dick!” said Mr. Sanders. “How can you talk such nonsense?” said the eldest of the three ladies, whose appearance suggested some strength of character, and suddenly brought back Miss Blow to Mr. Goddard’s mind. “This,” said Mr. Dick, indicating the lady, “is Miss Farquharson, Sanders’ aunt. This”--he pointed to another lady--“is Mrs. Sanders, his wife. And this”--he drew forward by the hand the lady whom he had lifted out of the carriage--“is Mrs. Dick, the ‘woman that owns me.’ Isn’t that the way you express it in this country?” Mr. Goddard bowed three times, and then glanced doubtfully at the bags which lay on the platform. “I’ve only been able to get two cars for you,” he said. “Have you much more luggage in the van?” “Oh, but an Irish car can carry any quantity of luggage,” said Miss Farquharson. “I’ve seen them absolutely packed, and still there was room for more.” Mr. Goddard admitted that this was true; but he thought of Patsy Devlin’s grey pony and the long miles between Clonmore and Pool-a-donagh. “And if there isn’t room,” said Mrs. Dick, “I’d like to sit in the middle--on the well--isn’t that what they call it?--with my back against the driver. I saw a boy sitting like that the other day, and it looked lovely.” “It’s all right,” said Mr. Dick. “We have two bikes with us. Sanders and I will ride. You shall have my machine, Sanders, and I’ll take my wife’s. Come along. The spin will do you all the good in the world. We’ll pedal along and let the ladies have the cars.” Mr. Sanders protested strongly against this plan. He had, he said, a weak heart, and cycling did not agree with him. He was overborne by a command from his aunt, and towed down the platform towards the luggage van by Mr. Dick. Miss Farquharson confided to Mr. Goddard that her nephew’s heart was not nearly so bad as he thought it was, and that the exercise would do him good. She was, unquestionably, a lady of commanding character. “He’s so full of energy,” said Mrs. Dick, watching her husband’s progress admiringly. “I say the air of Ireland has got into his head.” “Is he not so energetic at home?” asked Mr. Goddard. “Indeed he isn’t. Just fancy if he was!” She giggled convulsively at the thought. It was evident that Mr. Dick, though not a Scot, belonged to some part of the country where decorum of demeanour and a certain gravity are expected from Members of Parliament. “‘Fare thee well,’” shouted Mr. Dick from the end of the platform, “‘and if for ever, still for ever fare thee well.’”