She looked from side to side. She felt triumphant. Helena smiled,
acknowledging the sarcasm.

'But,' said Louisa, smiling anxiously, 'I don't quite see it. What's the
point?' 'Well, to be explicit, dear,' replied Olive, 'it is hardly safe to
accuse me of sadness and seriousness in _this_ trio.' Louisa laughed and shook herself.

'Come to think of it, it isn't,' she said.

Helena sighed, and walked down the platform. Her heart was beating
thickly; she could hardly breathe. The station lamps hung low, so they
made a ceiling of heat and dusty light. She suffocated under them. For a
moment she beat with hysteria, feeling, as most of us feel when sick on
a hot summer night, as if she must certainly go crazed, smothered under
the grey, woolly blanket of heat. Siegmund was late. It was already
twenty-five minutes past ten.

She went towards the booking-office. At that moment Siegmund came on to
the platform.

'Here I am!' he said. 'Where is Louisa?' Helena pointed to the seat without answering. She was looking at
Siegmund. He was distracted by the excitement of the moment, so she
could not read him.

'Olive is there, too,' she explained.

Siegmund stood still, straining his eyes to see the two women seated
amidst pale wicker dress-baskets and dark rugs. The stranger made things
more complex.

'Does she--your other friend--does she know?' he asked.