the clumsy folds of a thick shawl--these the traveller noted, in a lazy
contemplative mood, as he lolled in his corner, meditating an easy opening
for a conversation with his fair fellow-voyager.

He let some little time slip by in this way, being a man to whom haste was
almost unknown. This idle artistic consideration of Miss Level's beauty was
a quiet kind of enjoyment for him. She, for her part, seemed absorbed
in watching the landscape--a very commonplace English landscape in the
gentleman's eyes--and was in no way disturbed by his placid admiration.

He had a heap of newspapers and magazines thrown pell-mell into the empty
seat next him; and arousing himself with a faint show of effort presently,
he began to turn these over with a careless hand.

The noise of his movements startled Clarissa; she looked across at him, and
their eyes met. This was just what he wanted. He had been curious to see
her eyes. They were hazel, and very beautiful, completing the charm of her
face.

"May I offer you some of these things?" he said. "I have a reading lamp
in one of my bags, which I will light for you in a moment. I won't pledge
myself for your finding the magazines very amusing, but anything is better
than the blankness of a long dreary journey."

"Thank you, you are very kind; but I don't care about reading to-night; I
could not give you so much trouble."

"Pray don't consider that. It is not a question of a moments trouble. I'll
light the lamp, and then you can do as you like about the magazines."