‘I know just what he was doing. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. “I wish you didn’t. Please sit with me. I get the feeling that you are special, so alone, so beautiful that I must get to the bottom of you if it takes my whole life. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. She was curious to know why he had boarded a dingy train instead of hailing a cab or his own private chauffeur like the others in expensive suits were doing. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase.
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