He then turned away to seek his own train, the insistent feeling still haunting him that he had seen her pretty wistful face before.

He taxed his memory to recall where, but memory made no response.

It seemed a long time ago--like a glimpse from the face of the dead.

Mr.Brimsdown strove to put the idea from him as a trick of the imagination.
He beckoned to a porter, who took his bag to a first-class carriage in the Penzance train.

Mr.Brimsdown settled himself comfortably in a corner seat.