"How very fortunate!" rejoined Miss Gwilt. "I am going to London
too. Might I ask you Mr. Armadale (as you seem to be quite
alone), to be my escort on the journey?"
Allan looked at the little assembly of travelers, and travelers'
friends, collected on the platform, near the booking-office door.
They were all Thorpe Ambrose people. He was probably known by
sight, and Miss Gwilt was probably known by sight, to every one
of them. In sheer desperation, hesitating more awkwardly than
ever, he produced his cigar case. "I should be delighted," he
said, with an embarrassment which was almost an insult under the
circumstances. "But I--I'm what the people who get sick over a
cigar call a slave to smoking."
"I delight in smoking!" said Miss Gwilt, with undiminished
vivacity and good humor. "It's one of the privileges of the men
which I have always envied. I'm afraid, Mr. Armadale, you must
think I am forcing myself on you. It certainly looks like it.
The real truth is, I want particularly to say a word to you in
private about Mr. Midwinter."
The train came up at the same moment. Setting Midwinter out of
the question, the common decencies of politeness left Allan no
alternative but to submit.
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