for me beside her, "may I say, in Hamlet's words, 'Rest, rest--'"
she broke off with a silvery laugh.

"--perturbed Spirit!"' I finished the sentence for her. "Yes, that
describes a railway-traveler exactly! And here is an instance of it,"
I added, as the tiny local train drew up alongside the platform,
and the porters bustled about, opening carriage-doors--one of them
helping the poor old man to hoist himself into a third-class carriage,
while another of them obsequiously conducted the lady and myself into a
first-class.

She paused, before following him, to watch the progress of the other
passenger. "Poor old man!" she said. "How weak and ill he looks!
It was a shame to let him be turned away like that. I'm very sorry--"
At this moment it dawned on me that these words were not addressed to me,
but that she was unconsciously thinking aloud. I moved away a few
steps, and waited to follow her into the carriage, where I resumed the
conversation.

"Shakespeare must have traveled by rail, if only in a dream:
'perturbed Spirit' is such a happy phrase."

"'Perturbed' referring, no doubt," she rejoined, "to the sensational
booklets peculiar to the Rail. If Steam has done nothing else, it has
at least added a whole new Species to English Literature!"

"No doubt of it," I echoed. "The true origin of all our medical
books--and all our cookery-books--"

"No, no!" she broke in merrily. "I didn't mean our Literature!