regarded him with a pathetic amusement in her caressing eyes. She
took her time about making herself known; then she uttered only
a discreet:

"Ahem!"

She put into the cough many subtle implications. Hardly more could
be crowded into a shrug.

Dyckman came out of his kennels and paddocks, blinked, stared, gaped.
Then he began to stand up by first stepping down. He bestrode the
narrow aisle like a Colossus.

He caught her two hands, brought them together, placed them in one
of his, and covered them with the other as in a big muff, and bent
close to pour into her eyes such ardor that for a moment she closed
hers against the flame.

Then, as if in that silent greeting their souls had made a too loud
and startling noise of welcome, both of them looked about with
an effect of surreptition and alarm.

There were not many people in the car, and they were absorbed in
their own books, gossips, or naps. Only a few head-tops showing
above the high-backed seats, and no eyes or ears.

"Do you know anybody on the train?" the woman asked.

The man shook his head and sank into the seat opposite her, still
clinging to her hands. She extricated them: