Her features were almost too perfect.

She was too coldly sure of herself--too perfectly trained in the art of self-repression.

For a woman as young as she evidently was, she seemed to know too much.

The careful indifference of her countenance seemed to say, "I am too well schooled in life to make mistakes." She was traveling with two companions--a fluffy, fluttering, characterless shadow of womanhood, and a man--an invalid who seldom left the privacy of the drawing-room which he occupied.
As the train neared the summit of the pass, the young man on the observation car platform looked at his watch.

A few miles more and he would arrive at his destination.