of my own pronunciation grew upon me
with every mile; and, when I reached
Paulborough, at which we were allowed a pause
of twenty minutes for refreshment, I could
not bring myself to ask for bread and butter,
from the appalling consciousness that I should
have demanded "brid and buther." I stood
voiceless at the counter, tired with the journey,
and nearly famished; when there
appeared at the other side of the range of
glasses and plates and bottles and tarts, a
woman—no, a lady—no, an angel. Such a
face I never saw—such a figure never moved
in the dreams of Titian. Young, tall,
light-haired, slim-waisted, blue-eyed, sweet-voiced,
—dark gown, silk apron, gold necklace, lace
jacket. Oh, how my heart went beating,
beating; and she leaned across a salver
covered with pork pies, and said, "Will you
have anything to eat, sir? If all the gold in
the Bank; if all the pearls in the sea; if all
the diamonds in Golconda had been offered
me to make an answer, I could not have done
it. I stood open-mouthed, open-eyed,
open-handed, feet wide apart, hat on the back of
my head, and gazed at the celestial vision.
What an arm! what shoulders! what a shape!
what a chin! what lips!—and I never said a
word. "A foreigner, I suppose," she said,
with a smile, "poor fellow! I wonder where
his organ and white mice are!"

I felt blinded by the sight of so much
loveliness. I staggered rather than walked
to the carriage I had come in. I took
out my things, my trunk, and all my
professional baggage, and laid them with a
great thud on the platform. "Here I
stay till I've spoken to that woman—till I've
told her I adore her,—till I've painted
her portrait,—till I've married her. I'll
take her down with me to the north. We
will settle ourselves in a charming cottage on
the Tay, within the shadow of the Kippel
Wood. I will paint all the morning with
Adelisa (I wonder what her name is?) sitting
beside me, or reposing on a sofa as my model
for "Tired Huntress returning from the
Chace." We will walk in the green lanes:
we will fish in the flowing stream: we will
read in the same book. "Get out o' that
will ye," said the policeman, rudely pushing
me from the edge of the platform. The
passengers are taking their seats. Train's off,
gentlemen. Now, sir, where do you wish to
go?"

How could I tell the vulgar person where
I wished to go? I had no wish to go
anywhere. I knew nobody in Paulborough, nor
the name of a street, nor the sign of a hotel.
I gazed in at the open door of the first class
refreshment-room long after the train had
disappeared; and, still busy among the
salvers, corking bottles, rinsing out glasses,
rearranging plates of sandwiches was Adelisa.
Ah, how beautiful she was as she coquettishly
looked in the glass on the wall behind
her, and tossed a stray ringlet into its proper
place, or smoothed down her little apron,
or smiled to the inferior maidens, or to the
red-faced mistress of the place, who sat at a
window in an inner chamber—or to the
stout old waiter, or the burly porter; smiles,
smiles for all—but not a smile for me! or to
the policeman, or to the steady old railway
clerk—or,—or—He! perish the sight! crack
eyes! break heart! a young man, tall and
handsome, comes in from the street door,
slips quietly behind the counter, takes her
round the waist, chucks her under the chin,
and says, "Veal and ham, Sukey, and a glass
of cherry bounce."

"Now, sir, do you wish to go anywhere?"
said the policeman.

"No," I said in a feeble voice; "I have
no wish to go anywhere."

"Well, you mustn't stand here all day,"
said the man. "Down-train here in forty
minutes; Sam, clear away the gentleman's
luggage."

Had she knocked him down? Had she
drawn herself up like Minerva helmet-headed,
spear in hand? Had she cindered him into
silence with a glance of preternatural fire?

The brute was cutting his veal and ham, and
putting little bits of it with his fork into
her mouth, and sipping cherry-brandy, and
making her sip it too—sip for sip. And I
hadn't even asked her to give me a mutton
pie, or a piece of bread and butter, or a glass
of soda-water for fear of offending her delicate
ear with my hyperborean brogue! Why
wasn't I born in Suffolk, or Devon, or
Yorkshire; where if the language is peculiar, it is
still English, and this charming English woman
would have recognised me for a countryman,
and never have mocked me for my provincial
tones.

"Where to sir?" said the porter, who
had put all my worldly goods upon a truck.

"Wherever you like," I said, "the nearest
change hoose." I knew twenty names for
the sort of place I meant; but nothing would
make its appearance on my disgusted lips
but the basest of Scotch appellations.

"Where, sir?" inquired the ignorant fool.

"Pottus, ouse of hentertainment for man
and beast! hinn! 'otel! public!" I cried
in a fury of cockney pronunciation.

"Wery good, sir," said the man, "you'll
find hexcellent hale at the Fisherman; also
skittles."

One glance I cast into the refreshment-room.
She was alone—will I speak? will I
take her hand? will I tell her all I feel? I
couldn't. I felt assured of not being able to
utter a syllable if I once got within the
glamour of her look. So I followed the
porter with a sigh off the platform, through
the office across the street, and behold me in
the coffee-room of the Fisherman.

"Brandy-and-water!" I said as I threw
myself on a chair. "I will gather courage
from the bottle to tell her my love. In forty
minutes the Down-train will arrive, and I