There was a slight movement among the multitudinous enwrappings, and then the figure turned to him and said dryly, "Good morning!" It was Miss Porter! "Have you been long here ?" he stammered.
"All night." He would have given worlds to leave her at that moment.

He would have jumped from the starting coach to save himself any explanation of the embarrassment he was furiously conscious of showing, without, as he believed, any adequate cause.

And yet, like all inexperienced, sensitive men, he dashed blindly into that explanation; worse, he even told his secret at once, then and there, and then sat abashed and conscience-stricken, with an added sense of its utter futility.
"And this," summed up the young girl, with a slight shrug of her pretty shoulders, "is _your May_ ?" Cass would have recommenced his story.
"No, don't, pray! It isn't interesting, nor original.

Do _you_ believe it ?" "I do," said Cass, indignantly.
"How lucky! Then let me go to sleep." Cass, still furious, but uneasy, did not again address her.

When the coach stopped at Blazing Star she asked him, indifferently: "When does this sentimental pilgrimage begin ?" "I return for her at one o'clock," replied Cass, stiffly.