She watched him--so closely. At first he slept a good deal. He was never
in bed very early, and on this morning had been up at six. At Rugby he got
out and ate what he said was his breakfast. Would she not have a cup of
tea? Again she shook her head and smiled. She smiled as some women smile
when you offer them a third glass of champagne. "You are joking with me, I
know. You cannot think that I would take it." This was the meaning of
Lizzie's smile. He went into the refreshment-room, growled at the heat of
the tea and the abominable nastiness of the food provided, and then, after
the allotted five minutes, took himself to a smoking-carriage. He did not
rejoin his cousin till they were at Crewe. When he went back to his old
seat, she only smiled again. He asked her whether she had slept, and again
she shook her head. She had been repeating to herself the address to
Ianthe's soul, and her whole being was pervaded with poetry.
It was absolutely necessary, as he thought, that she should eat something,
and he insisted that she should dine upon the road, somewhere. He, of
course, was not aware that she had been nibbling biscuits and chocolate
while he had been smoking, and had had recourse even to the comfort of a
sherry flask which she carried in her dressing-bag.
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