He was standing where the part of the train which came from
Marbridge could not possibly stop, much in the way of porters and
trucks; Julia had to find him and find her luggage too, but he seemed
to think he was of much service. Julia's hard young heart smote her
when he gave twopence to her porter.
"Johnny," she said, as he took her ticket on the District Railway, "I
am going to pay for my ticket."
It was only threepence, but there are people who have to consider the
threepences; if Julia was one, she knew that Mr. Gillat was another,
and she had allowed for this threepence, and he probably had not. He
demurred, but she insisted. "Then I won't let you come with me;" and
he gave way.
They were alone in a compartment, and he shouted above the rattle of
the train something about her being missed at Marbridge.
"Oh, no," she said, "mother and the girls think it is a good thing I
am going."
"Your father and I will miss you," Johnny told her.
"You?"
"Yes; I'll miss you very much--we both shall; we shall sit
down-stairs, each side of the fire-place, and think how you used to
come there sometimes. And when I wait in the dining-room when your
father's not at home, I'll remember how you used to come down there
and chat. We had many a chat, didn't we?--you and me, and Bouquet
burning between us--there was nobody could trim Bouquet like you.
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