Sophia certainly did not dream of wishing to be younger.

We are seldom just to ourselves--either past or present: Sophia had a fine scorn for what she remembered herself to have been; she had greater respect for her present self, because there was less of outward show, and more of reality.
It might have been a quarter of an hour, it might have been more, since the train had last started, but now it stopped rather suddenly.

Sophia's father murmured sleepily against the proximity of the stations.

He was reclining in the seat just behind her.
Sophia looked out of her window.

She saw no light.