What would Mums--who had sobbed at parting--think if she knew that her martyred Marise was quite happy and chirpy? Yet so it was! The girl was keenly conscious of Garth's presence, but she couldn't help being as pleased as a child with the neat arrangement of her stateroom; with the coffee-coloured porter whose grin glittered like a diamond tiara set in the wrong place; with the cream-tinted maid who brought a large paper bag for her toque, and said, "My! ain't your hat just _sweet_?" and with the wee wooden houses they passed so close she could almost have snatched flower-pots from their window-sills, as "Alice" snatched marmalade, falling down to Wonderland through the Rabbit Hole. That was just at the start, for soon the train was flashing through fair green country with little rivers, and trees like English trees. Marise laughed aloud at the huge advertisements which disfigured the landscape; unpleasant-looking, giant men cut out of wood; Brobdingnag boys munching cakes; profile cows the size of elephants, and bottles tall as steeples. Then suddenly she checked herself. It was the first time she had laughed with Garth! He, too, was smiling. Their eyes met. The man seemed very human for that moment; young, too, and in spite of his bigness, boyish. What would she have thought of him, she wondered, if they had met in an ordinary way? The train stopped at very few places. Indeed, when in motion it had an air of stopping at nothing! It was fun going to the restaurant car. Men stared at Marise, and she saw that some of the women stared at Garth. Did they admire him? Would _she_ have admired him if she'd seen him for the first time as well-dressed as he was now, wearing a smart Guards' tie, and if she had never learned to think of him as a Devil and a Brute? Certainly his hair was nice. It grew well on his forehead, and brushed straight back it would have had the effect of a bronze helmet if there hadn't been a slight ripple to break the smoothness. "Monsieur Garth has received a telegram in the train," said Céline that night as she helped "Madame" to undress. "He has no stateroom himself. I suppose he could not get one. He is in a 'section,' no better than mine. He is sitting there now reading the telegram. I think he has read it several times. Perhaps it is from Madame his mother, whom we go to visit." "Perhaps," echoed Marise. But somehow she felt sure it wasn't. It wasn't about business, either! Strange that you could get telegrams in trains. He must have told the person to wire; and the person was a woman--Zélie Marks, most likely. All Marise's resentment against Garth came back, as her mother would have wished for Severance's sake.