“Well, look what’s with us,” said the lover. “Here, lad, here, lad.”

“That’s Telephone Girl,” said the lady in the raincoat, now on her feet and straightening herself with distant sweepings of both hands. “I was just in conversation with the keeper of those. Don’t be getting her stirred up. She’s a winner, he has it.” She let herself down into the seat and spread a look on all of them as if she had always been too womanly for the place. Her mooning face turned slowly and met the Welshman’s stem, strong glance: he appeared to be expecting some apology from some source.

“’Tisn’t everybody runs so fast and gets nothing for it in the end herself, either,” said the lady. Telephone Girl shuddered, ate some crumbs, coughed.

“I’m ashamed to hear you saying that, she gets the glory,” said the man from Connemara. “How many human beings of your acquaintance get half a dog’s chance at glory?”

“You don’t like dogs.” The lady looked at him, bowing her head.

“They’re not my element. That’s not the way I’m made, no.”

The man in charge rushed in, and out he and the dog shot together. Somebody closed the door; it was the Welshman.

“Now: what time of the night do you get to Cork?” he asked.

The lover spoke, unexpectedly. “Tomorrow morning.” The girl let out a long breath after him.

“What time of the morning?”

“Nine!” shouted everybody but the American.

“Travel all night,” he said.

“Book a berth in Fishguard!”

The mincing woman with the red-haired baby boy passed—the baby with his same fat, enchanted squint looked through the glass at them.

“Oh, I always get seasick!” cried the young wife in fatalistic enthusiastic tones, only distantly watching the baby, who, although he stretched his little hand against the glass, was not being kidnaped now. She leaned over to tell the young girl, “Let me only step off the train at Fishguard and I’m dying already.”

“What do you usually do for an attack of seasickness when you’re on the Cork boat?”

“I just stay in one place and never move, that’s what I do!” she cried, the smile that had never left her sad, sweet lips turned upon them all. “I don’t try to move at all and I die all the way.” Victor edged a little away from her.

“The boat rocks,” suggested the Welshman. Victor edged away from him.

“The Innisfallen? Of course she rocks, there’s a far, wide sea, very deep and treacherous, and very historic.” The man from Connemara folded his arms.