She was very sorry that she had asked him. She had no idea that it would be such a dreadful answer, or she would not have asked him. Mr. Beebe had turned the conversation so cleverly, and she hoped that the young man was not very much hurt at her asking him

“The railway!” gasped Miss Lavish. “Oh, but I shall die! Of course it was the railway!” She could not control her mirth. “He is the image of a porter — on, on the South-Eastern.”

“Eleanor, be quiet,” plucking at her vivacious companion. “Hush! They'll hear — the Emersons — ”

“I can't stop. Let me go my wicked way. A porter — ”

“Eleanor!”