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MISS GALBRAITH: “Please not touch me, sir! You have no longer any right whatever to do so.”

MR. RICHARDS: “You misinterpret a very inoffensive gesture. I have no idea of touching you, but I hope I may be allowed, as a special favor, to–pick up my hat, which you are in the act of stepping on.” Miss Galbraith hastily turns, and strikes the hat with her whirling skirts; it rolls to the other side of the parlor, and

MR. RICHARDS, who goes after it, utters an ironical “Thanks!” He brushes it, and puts it on, looking at her where she has again seated herself at the window with her back to him, and continues, “As for any further molestation from me” –

MISS GALBRAITH: “If you WILL talk to me” –

MR. RICHARDS: “Excuse me, I am not talking to you.”

MISS GALBRAITH: “What were you doing?”

MR. RICHARDS: “I was beginning to think aloud. I–I was soliloquizing. I suppose I may be allowed to soliloquize?”

MISS GALBRAITH, very coldly: “You can do what you like.”

MR. RICHARDS: “Unfortunately that’s just what I can’t do. If I could do as I liked, I should ask you a single question.”

MISS GALBRAITH, after a moment: “Well, sir, you may ask your question.” She remains as before, with her chin in her hand, looking tearfully out of the window; her face is turned from

MR. RICHARDS, who hesitates a moment before he speaks.

MR. RICHARDS: “I wish to ask you just this,

MISS GALBRAITH: if you couldn’t ride backwards in the other car, why do you ride backwards in this?”

MISS GALBRAITH, burying her face in her handkerchief, and sobbing: “Oh, oh, oh! This is too bad!”

MR. RICHARDS: “Oh, come now, Lucy. It breaks my heart to hear you going on so, and all for nothing. Be a little merciful to both of us, and listen to me. I’ve no doubt I can explain everything if I once understand it, but it’s pretty hard explaining a thing if you don’t understand it yourself. Do turn round. I know it makes you sick to ride in that way, and if you don’t want to face me–there!”– wheeling in his chair so as to turn his back upon her–“you needn’t. Though it’s rather trying to a fellow’s politeness, not to mention his other feelings. Now, what in the name” –

PORTER, who at this moment enters with his step-ladder, and begins to light the lamps: “Going pretty slow ag’in, sah.”

MR. RICHARDS: “Yes; what’s the trouble?”

PORTER: “Well, I don’t know exactly, sah. Something de matter with de locomotive. We sha’n’t be into Albany much ‘fore eight o’clock.”

MR. RICHARDS: “What’s the next station?”

PORTER: “Schenectady.”

MR. RICHARDS: “Is the whole train as empty as this car?”

PORTER, laughing: “Well, no, sah. Fact is, dis cah don’t belong on dis train. It’s a Pullman that we hitched on when you got in, and we’s taking it along for one of de Eastern roads. We let you in ’cause de Drawing-rooms was all full. Same with de lady,”–looking sympathetically at her, as he takes his steps to go out. “Can I do anything for you now, miss?”

MISS GALBRAITH, plaintively: “No, thank you; nothing whatever.” She has turned while Mr. Richards and The Porter have been speaking, and now faces the back of the former, but her veil is drawn closely. The Porter goes out.