“It is,” she approved, as with novel conviction.  “The landscape is really beautiful.  So nice and flat,” she added.

He took her intention, and he said, as he craned his neck out of the carryall to include the nearer roadside stretches, with their low bushes lifting into remoter trees, “It’s restful in a way that neither the mountains nor the sea, quite manage.”

“Oh yes,” she sighed, with a kind of weariness which explained itself in what she added:  “It’s the kind of thing you’d like to have keep on and on.”  She seemed to say that more to herself than to him, and his eyes questioned her.  She smiled slightly in explaining:  “I suppose I find it all the more beautiful because this is my first real look into the world after six months indoors.”

“Oh!” he said, and there was no doubt a prompting in his tone.

She smiled still.  “Sick people are terribly, egotistical, and I suppose it’s my conceit of having been the centre of the universe so lately that makes me mention it.”  And here she laughed a little at herself, showing a charming little peculiarity in the catch of her upper lip on her teeth.  “But this is divine—­this air and this sight.”  She put her head out of her side of the carryall, and drank them in with her lungs and eyes.

When she leaned back again on the seat she said, “I can’t get enough of it.”

“But isn’t this old rattletrap rather too rough for you?” he asked.

“Oh no,” she said, visiting him with a furtive turn of her eyes.  “It’s quite ideally what invalids in easy circumstances are advised to take carriage exercise.”

“Yes, it’s certainly carriage exercise,” Verrian admitted in the same spirit, if it was a drolling spirit.  He could not help being amused by the situation in which they had been brought together, through the vigorous promptitude of Miss Macroyd in making the victoria her own, and the easy indifference of Mrs. Westangle as to how they should get to her house.  If he had been alone he might have felt the indifference as a slight, but as it was he felt it rather a favor.  If Miss Shirley was feeling it a slight, she was too secret or too sweet to let it be known, and he thought that was nice of her.  Still, he believed he might recognize the fact without deepening a possible hurt of hers, and he added, with no apparent relevance, “If Mrs. Westangle was not looking for us on this train, she will find that it is the unexpected which happens.”

“We are certainly going to happen,” the girl said, with an acceptance of the plural which deepened the intimacy of the situation, and which was not displeasing to Verrian when she added, “If our friend’s vehicle holds out.”  Then she turned her face full upon him, with what affected him as austere resolution, in continuing, “But I can’t let you suppose that you’re conveying a society person, or something of that sort, to Mrs. Westangle’s.”  His own face expressed his mystification, and she concluded, “I’m simply going there to begin my work.”