girl, with all a girl's love of ease and pleasure;
it must not be set down against her that she
surveyed her pretty travelling-suit with much
complacency, rejoicing inwardly that she could use
her hands without exposing fractured gloves, that
her bonnet was of the newest mode, needing no
veil to hide a faded ribbon or a last year's shape,
that her dress swept the ground with fashionable
untidiness, and her boots were guiltless of a patch,
--that she was the possessor of a mine of wealth
in two of the eight trunks belonging to her aunt,
that she was travelling like any lady of the land
with man- and maid-servant at her command, and
that she was leaving work and care behind her for
a month or two of novelty and rest.

When these agreeable facts were fully realized,
and Aunt Pen had fallen asleep behind her veil,
Debby took out a book, and indulged in her favorite
luxury, soon forgetting past, present, and future
in the inimitable history of Martin Chuzzlewit.
The sun blazed, the cars rattled, children
cried, ladies nodded, gentlemen longed for the
solace of prohibited cigars, and newspapers were
converted into sun-shades, nightcaps, and fans;
but Debby read on, unconscious of all about her,
even of the pair of eves that watched her from the
Opposite corner of the car. A Gentleman with a
frank, strong-featured face sat therin, and amused
himself by scanning with thoughtful gaze the