He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. That added to his puzzle. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. “Very likely,” he answered. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. He was tall, slender, and suave. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way.
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