like any other--at least as far as I know."

"That means you don't know anything about her."

"Wait, and I'll tell you." He drew the reins tightly to accelerate the
horse's speed, and, half turning to his companion, without, however,
moving his eyes from the darkness before him, spoke quickly between the
blasts: "I've seen her only half a dozen times. Met her first in 6.40
train out from Boston last fall. She sat next to me. Covered up with
wraps and veils; never looked twice at her. She spoke first--kind of
half bold, half frightened way. Then got more comfortable and unwound
herself, you know, and I saw she was young and not bad-looking.
Thought she was some school-girl out for a lark--but rather new at it.
Inexperienced, you know, but quite able to take care of herself, by
George! and although she looked and acted as if she'd never spoken to
a stranger all her life, didn't mind the kind of stuff I talked to her.
Rather encouraged it; and laughed--such a pretty little odd laugh, as
if laughing wasn't in her usual line, either, and she didn't know how to
manage it. Well, it ended in her slipping out at one end of the car when
we arrived, while I was looking out for a cab for her at the other." He
stopped to recover from a stronger gust of wind. "I--I thought it a good
joke on me, and let the thing drop out of my mind, although, mind you,
she'd promised to meet me a month afterwards at the same time and place.
Well, when the day came I happened to be in Boston, and went to the
station. Don't know why I went, for I didn't for a moment think she'd
keep her appointment. First, I couldn't find her in the train, but after
we'd started she came along out of some seat in the corner, prettier
than ever, holding out her hand." He drew a long inspiration. "You can
bet your life, Ned, I didn't let go that little hand the rest of the
journey."