_He_ was only there to please Anderson.
What did the aristocratic Englishwoman on tour--with all her little Jingoisms and Imperialisms about her--matter to him, or he to her?
While the stream of guests was slowly making its way into the car, while Yerkes at the further end, resplendent in a buttonhole and a white cap and apron, was watching the scene, and the special engine, like an impatient horse, was puffing and hissing to be off, a man, who had entered the cloak-room of the station to deposit a bundle just as the car-party arrived, approached the cloak-room door from the inside, and looked through the glazed upper half.

His stealthy movements and his strange appearance passed unnoticed.

There was a noisy emigrant party in the cloak-room, taking out luggage deposited the night before; they were absorbed in their own affairs, and in some wrangle with the officials which involved a good deal of lost temper on both sides.
The man was old and grey.

His face, large-featured and originally comely in outline, wore the unmistakable look of the outcast.

His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth trembled, so did his limbs as he stood peering by the door.