THE GREAT UNDERSTANDING

      It was in the afternoon of this same day--a day so momentous in the

      lives of more than one of London's millions--that two travelers might

      have been seen to descend from a first-class compartment of the Dover

      boat-train at Charing Cross.

      They had been the sole occupants of the compartment, and, despite the

      wide dissimilarity of character to be read upon their countenances,

      seemed to have struck up an acquaintance based upon mutual amiability

      and worldly common sense. The traveler first to descend and gallantly to

      offer his hand to his companion in order to assist her to the platform,

      was the one whom a casual observer would first have noted.

      He was a man built largely, but on good lines; a man past his youth, and

      somewhat too fleshy; but for all his bulk, there was nothing unwieldy,

      and nothing ungraceful in his bearing or carriage. He wore a French

      traveling-coat, conceived in a style violently Parisian, and composed of

      a wonderful check calculated to have blinded any cutter in Savile Row.

      From beneath its gorgeous folds protruded the extremities of severely

      creased cashmere trousers, turned up over white spats which nestled

      coyly about a pair of glossy black boots. The traveler's hat was of

      velour, silver gray and boasting a partridge feather thrust in its

      silken band. One glimpse of the outfit must have brought the entire

      staff of the Tailor and Cutter to an untimely grave.

      But if ever man was born who could carry such a make-up, this

      traveler was he. The face was cut on massive lines, on fleshy lines,

      clean-shaven, and inclined to pallor. The hirsute blue tinge about

      the jaw and lips helped to accentuate the virile strength of the long,

      flexible mouth, which could be humorous, which could be sorrowful, which

      could be grim. In the dark eyes of the man lay a wealth of experience,

      acquired in a lifelong pilgrimage among many peoples, and to many lands.

      His dark brows were heavily marked, and his close-cut hair was splashed

      with gray.

      Let us glance at the lady who accepted his white-gloved hand, and who

      sprang alertly onto the platform beside him.

      She was a woman bordering on the forties, with a face of masculine

      vigor, redeemed and effeminized, by splendid hazel eyes, the kindliest

      imaginable. Obviously, the lady was one who had never married, who

      despised, or affected to despise, members of the other sex, but who had

      never learned to hate them; who had never grown soured, but who found

      the world a garden of heedless children--of children who called for

      mothering. Her athletic figure was clothed in a “sensible” tweed

      traveling dress, and she wore a tweed hat pressed well on to her head,

      and brown boots with the flattest heels conceivable. Add to this a

      Scotch woolen muffler, and a pair of woolen gloves, and you have a

      mental picture of the second traveler--a truly incongruous companion for

      the first.

      Joining the crowd pouring in the direction of the exit gates, the

      two chatted together animatedly, both speaking English, and the man

      employing that language with a perfect ease and command of words which

      nevertheless failed to disguise his French nationality. He spoke with

      an American accent; a phenomenon sometimes observable in one who has

      learned his English in Paris.

      The irritating formalities which beset the returning traveler--and the

      lady distinctly was of the readily irritated type--were smoothed away by

      the magic personality of her companion. Porters came at the beck of his

      gloved hand; guards, catching his eye, saluted and were completely his

      servants; ticket inspectors yielded to him the deference ordinarily

      reserved for directors of the line.

      Outside the station, then, her luggage having been stacked upon a cab,

      the lady parted from her companion with assurances, which were returned,

      that she should hope to improve the acquaintance.

      The address to which the French gentleman politely requested the

      cabman to drive, was that of a sound and old-established hotel in the

      neighborhood of the Strand, and at no great distance from the station.

      Then, having stood bareheaded until the cab turned out into the traffic

      stream of that busy thoroughfare, the first traveler,