In the carriage they had the compartment to themselves with the exception of an old lady at the further end who had a parrot in a cage for which she had taken a first-class ticket.  “I can’t offer you this seat,” said the old lady, “because it has been booked and paid for my bird.”  As neither of the new passengers had shown the slightest wish for the seat the communication was perhaps unnecessary.  Neither of the two had any idea of separating from the other for the sake of the old lady’s company.

They had before them a journey of thirty miles on one railway, then a stop of half an hour at the Hinxton junction; and then another journey of about equal length.  In the first hour very little was said that might not have been said in the presence of Lady Ushant,—­or even of Mrs. Masters.  There might be a question whether, upon the whole, the parrot had not the best of the conversation, as the bird, which the old lady declared to be the wonder of his species, repeated the last word of nearly every sentence spoken either by our friends or by the old lady herself.  “Don’t you think you’d be less liable to cold with that window closed?” the old lady said to Mary.  “Cosed,—­cosed,—­cosed,” said the bird, and Morton was of course constrained to shut the window.  “He is a wonderful bird,” said the old lady.  “Wonderful bird;—­wonderful bird;—­wonderful bird,” said the parrot, who was quite at home with this expression.  “We shall be able to get some lunch at Hinxton,” said Reginald.  “Inxton,” screamed the bird—­“Caw,—­caw—­caw.”  “He’s worth a deal of money,” said the old lady.  “Deal o’ money, Deal o’ money,” repeated the bird as he scrambled round the wire cage with a tremendous noise, to the great triumph of the old lady.

No doubt the close attention which the bird paid to everything that passed, and the presence of the old lady as well, did for a time interfere with their conversation.  But, after awhile, the old lady was asleep, and the bird, having once or twice attempted to imitate the somnolent sounds which his mistress was making, seemed also to go to sleep himself.  Then Reginald, beginning with Lady Ushant and the old Morton family generally, gradually got the conversation round to Bragton and the little bridge.  He had been very stern when he had left her there, and he knew also that at that subsequent interview, when he had brought Lady Ushant’s note to her at her father’s house, he had not been cordially kind to her.  Now they were thrown together for an hour or so in the closest companionship, and he wished to make her comfortable and happy.  “I suppose you remember Bragton?” he said.

“Every path and almost every tree about the place.”

“So do I. I called there the other day.  Family quarrels are so silly, you know.”

“Did you see Mr. Morton?”

“No;—­and he hasn’t returned my visit yet.  I don’t know whether he will,—­and I don’t much mind whether he does or not.  That old woman is there, and she is very bitter against me.  I don’t care about the people, but I am sorry that I cannot see the place.”