I had travelled the road often enough to know it by heart, and I
recognized our near approach only to realize that the train did not
mean to stop. I turned over the leaves of Bradshaw and saw I had been
mistaken; the train skirted Boulogne and never entered the station.

"Well, that settles it for the present, anyhow. If she still wants to
leave the train she must wait now until Amiens. That ought to suit her
just as well."

But it would not; at least, she lost no time in expressing her
disappointment at not being able to alight at Boulogne.

We had hardly passed the place when her maid's (or companion's) square
figure filled the open doorway of my compartment, and in her strong
deep voice she addressed a brief summons to me brusquely and
peremptorily:

"My lady wishes to speak to you."

"And pray what does 'my lady' want with me?" I replied carelessly,
using the expression as a title of rank.

"She is not 'my lady,' but 'my' lady, my mistress, and simply Mrs.
Blair." The correction and information were vouchsafed with cold
self-possession. "Are you coming?"

"I don't really see why I should," I said, not too civilly. "Why
should I be at her beck and call? If she had been in any trouble, any
serious trouble, such as she anticipated when talking to me at the