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It
pleased
him
that
she
did
not
return
the
conventional
“
Oh
,
would
you
?
”
Instead
,
she
corrected
him
with
a
laugh
—
“
Not
a
trunk
,
but
my
trunk
;
I
’
ve
no
other
—
”
and
then
added
briskly
:
“
You
’
d
better
first
see
to
getting
your
own
things
on
the
boat
.
”
This
made
him
answer
,
as
if
to
give
substance
to
his
plans
by
discussing
them
:
“
I
don
’
t
actually
know
that
I
’
m
going
over
.
”
“
Not
going
over
?
”
“
Well
.
.
.
perhaps
not
by
this
boat
.
”
Again
he
felt
a
stealing
indecision
.
“
I
may
probably
have
to
go
back
to
London
.
I
’
m
—
I
’
m
waiting
.
.
.
expecting
a
letter
.
.
.
(
She
’
ll
think
me
a
defaulter
,
”
he
reflected
.
)
“
But
meanwhile
there
’
s
plenty
of
time
to
find
your
trunk
.
”
He
picked
up
his
companion
’
s
bundles
,
and
offered
her
an
arm
which
enabled
her
to
press
her
slight
person
more
closely
under
his
umbrella
;
and
as
,
thus
linked
,
they
beat
their
way
back
to
the
platform
,
pulled
together
and
apart
like
marionettes
on
the
wires
of
the
wind
,
he
continued
to
wonder
where
he
could
have
seen
her
He
had
immediately
classed
her
as
a
compatriot
;
her
small
nose
,
her
clear
tints
,
a
kind
of
sketchy
delicacy
in
her
face
,
as
though
she
had
been
brightly
but
lightly
washed
in
with
water
-
colour
,
all
confirmed
the
evidence
of
her
high
sweet
voice
and
of
her
quick
incessant
gestures
.
She
was
clearly
an
American
,
but
with
the
loose
native
quality
strained
through
a
closer
woof
of
manners
:
the
composite
product
of
an
enquiring
and
adaptable
race
.
All
this
,
however
,
did
not
help
him
to
fit
a
name
to
her
,
for
just
such
instances
were
perpetually
pouring
through
the
London
Embassy
,
and
the
etched
and
angular
American
was
becoming
rarer
than
the
fluid
type
.
More
puzzling
than
the
fact
of
his
being
unable
to
identify
her
was
the
persistent
sense
connecting
her
with
something
uncomfortable
and
distasteful
.
So
pleasant
a
vision
as
that
gleaming
up
at
him
between
wet
brown
hair
and
wet
brown
boa
should
have
evoked
only
associations
as
pleasing
;
but
each
effort
to
fit
her
image
into
his
past
resulted
in
the
same
memories
of
boredom
and
a
vague
discomfort
.
.
.
“
Don
’
t
you
remember
me
now
—
at
Mrs
.
Murrett
’
s
?
”
She
threw
the
question
at
Darrow
across
a
table
of
the
quiet
coffee
-
room
to
which
,
after
a
vainly
prolonged
quest
for
her
trunk
,
he
had
suggested
taking
her
for
a
cup
of
tea
.
In
this
musty
retreat
she
had
removed
her
dripping
hat
,
hung
it
on
the
fender
to
dry
,
and
stretched
herself
on
tiptoe
in
front
of
the
round
eagle
-
crowned
mirror
,
above
the
mantel
vases
of
dyed
immortelles
,
while
she
ran
her
fingers
comb
-
wise
through
her
hair
.
The
gesture
had
acted
on
Darrow
’
s
numb
feelings
as
the
glow
of
the
fire
acted
on
his
circulation
;
and
when
he
had
asked
:
“
Aren
’
t
your
feet
wet
,
too
?
”
and
,
after
frank
inspection
of
a
stout
-
shod
sole
,
she
had
answered
cheerfully
:
“
No
—
luckily
I
had
on
my
new
boots
,
”
he
began
to
feel
that
human
intercourse
would
still
be
tolerable
if
it
were
always
as
free
from
formality
.
The
removal
of
his
companion
’
s
hat
,
besides
provoking
this
reflection
,
gave
him
his
first
full
sight
of
her
face
;
and
this
was
so
favourable
that
the
name
she
now
pronounced
fell
on
him
with
a
quite
disproportionate
shock
of
dismay
.
