Adah's Journey

The oil lamp was burning dimly, and the girl's white face was lost in
the shadow, when the young man first glanced at her, so he had no
suspicion of the truth, though a most indefinable sensation crept over
him as he heard the timid footfall, and the rustling of female garments
as Adah Hastings drew near with her boy in her arms. He knew she stopped
before him; he knew, too, why she stopped, and for a brief instant his
better nature bade him be a man and offer her what he knew she wanted.
But only for an instant, and then his selfishness prevailed. "He would
not seem to see her, he would not be bothered by a woman with a brat. If
there was anything he hated it was a woman traveling with a young one, a
squalling young one. They would never catch his wife, when he had one,
doing a thing so unladylike. A car was no place for children. He hated
the whole of them."

Adah passed on, her weary sigh falling distinctly on his ear, but
falling to awaken a feeling of remorse for his unmanly conduct.

"I'm glad she's gone. I can't be bothered," was his mental comment as he
settled himself more comfortably, feeling a glow of satisfaction when
the train began to move, and he knew no more women with their babies
would be likely to trouble him.