It is evening when, almost _before_ the train has stopped, I
insist on jumping out at our station. Imagine if through some accident
we were carried on to the next by mistake!
Such a thing has never happened in the annals of history, but still it
_might_.
Sir Roger has some considerable difficulty in hindering me from shaking
hands with the whole staff of officials. One veteran porter, who has
been here ever since I was born, has a polite but improbable trick of
addressing _every_ female passenger as "my lady." Well, with regard to
_me_, at least, he is right now. I _am_ "my lady." Ha! ha! I have not
nearly got over the ridiculousness of this fact yet, though I have been
in possession of it now these _four_ whole weeks.
It has been a hot, parching summer day, and now that the night draws on
all the flagging flowers in the cottage-borders are straightening
themselves anew, and lifting their leaves to the dews. The pale
bean-flowers, in the broad bean-fields, as we pass, send their delicate
scent over the hedge to me, as if it were some fair and courteous
speech.
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