A SLEEP AND A F0RGETTING
I
Matthew Lanfear had stopped off, between Genoa and Nice, at San Remo inthe interest of a friend who had come over on the steamer with him, andwho wished him to test the air before settling there for the winter withan invalid wife. She was one of those neurasthenics who really carrytheir climate--always a bad one--with them, but she had set her mind onSan Remo; and Lanfear was willing to pass a few days in the place makingthe observations which he felt beautiful sure would be adverse.
His train was rather late, and the sunset was fading from the French skybeyond the Italian shore when he got out of his car and looked round fora porter to take his valise. His roving eye lighted on the anxiousfigure, which as fully as the anxious face, of a short, stout, elderlyman expressed a sort of distraction, as he stood loaded down withumbrellas, bags, bundles, and wraps, and seemed unable to arrest themovements of a tall youthful child, with a travelling-shawl trailing fromher arm, who had the effect of escaping from him towards a bench besidethe door of the waiting-room. When she reached it, in spite of hisappeals, she sat down with an absent air, and looked as far withdrawnfrom the bustle of the platform and from the snuffling train as if onsome quiet garden seat along with her own thoughts.