He turned to the girl, still smiling grimly, and directed her glance with his own about the studying, stolid circle of official Britons.
"I'm afraid I'd forgotten the British nature, Miss Varris—Mrs. Varris," he murmured, "when I was so recklessly reluctant to go on with you; but Mr. Dunneston has kindly recalled it to me. So if it's not too late, I'll accept your convoy and safe conduct into Lincolnshire."
"Good!" they approved gladly.
Yet two hours later, as the shrill whistle of the little hurrying English locomotive shrieked for the first little station over the county borders in Lincolnshire, Preston surprised them by rising suddenly and pulling down his hand luggage from the racks over his head.
For two hours their talk had been carefully light and impersonal. But now the girl started quickly.
"You are not going on to Lincoln with us?" she asked. "I thought you said you were."
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