Carley was accustomed to attracting attention,
and did not resent it, unless she was annoyed. The train evidently had a
full complement of passengers, who, as far as Carley could see, were people
not of her station in life. The glare from the many windows, and the rather
crass interest of several men, drove her back to her own section. There she
discovered that some one had drawn up her window shades. Carley promptly
pulled them down and settled herself comfortably. Then she heard a woman
speak, not particularly low: "I thought people traveled west to see the
country." And a man replied, rather dryly. "Wal, not always." His companion
went on: "If that girl was mine I'd let down her skirt." The man laughed
and replied: "Martha, you're shore behind the times. Look at the pictures
in the magazines."
Such remarks amused Carley, and later she took advantage of an opportunity
to notice her neighbors. They appeared a rather quaint old couple,
reminding her of the natives of country towns in the Adirondacks. She was
not amused, however, when another of her woman neighbors, speaking low,
referred to her as a "lunger." Carley appreciated the fact that she was
pale, but she assured herself that there ended any possible resemblance she
might have to a consumptive.
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