When he did arrive at Victoria station he found the people pouring in in shoals; for now was the very height of the Brighton season; besides which there were plenty of Londoners glad to escape, if only for a day, from the perpetual fog and gloom.  And yet, curiously enough, although the carriages were being rapidly filled, he took no trouble about securing a seat.  After he had gone down the whole length of the train, he turned, and kept watching the new arrivals as they came through the distant gate.  The time for departure was imminent; but he did not seem anxious about getting to Brighton.  And at last his patience, or his obstinacy, was rewarded; he saw two figures—­away along there—­that he instantly recognized; even at a greater distance he could have told that one of these was Honnor Cunyngham, for who else in all England walked like that?  The two ladies were unattended by either man or maid; and as they came along they seemed rather concerned at the crowded condition of the train.  Lionel walked quickly forward to meet them.  There was no time for the expression of surprise on their part—­only for the briefest greeting.

“I must try to get you seats,” said he, “but the train appears to be very full, and the guards are at their wits’ end.  I say!” he called to a porter.  “Look here; this train is crammed, and the people are pouring in yet; what are they going to do?”

“There’s a relief train, sir,” said the porter, indicating a long row of empty carriages just across the platform.

“You are sure those are going?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we can get in now?”

The man looked doubtful; but Lionel soon settled that matter by taking the two ladies along to a Pullman car, where the conductor at once allowed them to pass.  It is true that as soon as the public outside perceived that these empty carriages were also going, they took possession without more ado; but in the meantime Lionel and his two companions had had their choice of places, so that they were seated together when the train started.

“It was most fortunate we met you,” Lady Cunyngham said, bending very friendly eyes on the young man.  “I do so hate a crowded train; it happens so seldom in travelling in England that one is not used to it.  Are you going down to Brighton for any time, Mr. Moore?”

“Mother,” said Honnor Cunyngham, almost reproachfully, “you forget what Mr. Moore’s engagements are.”

“Yes,” said he, with a smile, “it is rather a cruel question.  My glimpses of the sea and sky are few and far between.  The heavens that I usually find over my head are made of canvas; and the country scenes I wander through are run on wheels.”

“But don’t you think,” said Miss Honnor to him (and it seemed so cheerful to be away from the London gloom and out here in the clearer air; to find himself sitting so near this young lady, able to regard her dress, listening to her voice, sometimes venturing to meet the straightforward glance of her calm eyes—­all this was a wondrous and marvellous thing)—­“don’t you think you enjoy getting away from town all the more keenly?  I shall never forget you in Strathaivron; you were never bored like some of the other gentlemen.”