"Hulton's," said Foster, and afterwards thought she tactfully
encouraged him to talk about the manufacturing firm, although he did
not mention Fred Hulton's death. Her manner, however, was quite
correct; he had been of some small help, which warranted her conversing
with him to pass the time. That was all, and when their companion got
out and she opened a book he went to the smoking-compartment.

When he left the train at the Waverley station he saw her on the
platform and she gave him a slight bow, but he understood that their
acquaintance ended there and was content. After lunch he walked along,
Princes Street and back to the castle. The sky was clear, the sun
shone on the old tall houses, and a nipping north-easter blew across
the Forth. In spite of its age and modern industry, the town looked
strangely clean and cold. No smoke could hang about it in the nipping
wind; its prevailing color was granite-gray. The Forth was a streak of
raw indigo, and the hills all round were steely blue. Edinburgh was
like no English town; it had an austere half-classical beauty that was
peculiar to itself; perhaps Quebec, though different, resembled it most
of all the cities he had seen.

Then he remembered Carmen's packet, and after asking a passer-by took a
tram-car that carried him through the southern quarter of the town into
a wide road, lined by well-built stone houses. Standing in small, neat
gardens, they ran back to the open country, with a bold ridge of moors
in the distance. Foster got down where he was directed and crossed the
road to one of the houses. They were all much alike and he thought
hinted at the character of their occupants. One would expect to find
the people who lived there prosperous citizens with sober, conventional
habits.