"Then you travel second-class?" Esther said.
"Yes, I always travel second-class now; Peggy never would, but second
seems to me quite good enough. I don't care about third, unless one is
with a lot of pals, and can keep the carriage to ourselves. That's the way
we manage it when we go down to Newmarket or Doncaster."
They were alone in the compartment. William leaned forward and took her
hand.
"Try to forgive me, Esther."
She drew her hand away; he got up, and sat down beside her, and put his
arm around her waist.
"No, no. I'll have none of that. All that sort of thing is over between
us."
He looked at her inquisitively, not knowing how to act.
"I know you've had a hard time, Esther. Tell me about it. What did you do
when you left Woodview?" He unfortunately added, "Did you ever meet any
one since that you cared for?"
The question irritated her, and she said, "It don't matter to you who I
met or what I went through."
The conversation paused. William spoke about the Barfields, and Esther
could not but listen to the tale of what had happened at Woodview during
the last eight years.
Woodview had been all her unhappiness and all her misfortune. She had gone
there when the sap of life was flowing fastest in her, and Woodview had
become the most precise and distinct vision she had gathered from life.
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