[Pg 14]

The boxes were wheeled towards the platform.

“I’ve no change, ma’am,” said the cabby.

“That’s all right,” said Miss Mason hurriedly.

The cabby stared. “You’re very good, ma’am.”

“It’s all right,” said Miss Mason again.

Ten shillings was a small amount to give a man who had driven her a mile towards happiness. She followed the porter on to the platform.

“Victoria, second class,” she said to the man at the ticket office.

“Return or single, ma’am?” he demanded.

“Single,” said Miss Mason firmly.

She took the little piece of cardboard from him and thrust it up her glove. She loved the feeling of it. It was her passport to freedom.

She watched the boxes being labelled. They were new boxes and hitherto guiltless of station labels. When she had seen them firmly attached, and had been solemnly assured by the porter that the paste was both strong and adhesive, she turned her attention to the bookstall. After a few moments’ survey she moved away hurriedly. The pictures on the covers of some of the books distressed her, especially one of a young female with red hair and very insufficient orange attire. For a moment Miss Mason blushed. But she forgot the objectionable book in looking along the shiny rails in the direction from which the train must arrive.

The sudden ringing of a bell made her jump.

[Pg 15]

[Pg 15]

“Train’s signalled, ma’am,” said the porter. “She’ll be here in five minutes now.”

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