Smilash went into the chalet and never reappeared.

Instead, Trefusis, a gentleman in an ulster, carrying a rug, came out, locked the door, and hurried along the road to Lyvern, where he was picked up by the trap, and carried swiftly to the railway station, just in time to catch the London train.
"Evening paper, sir ?" said a voice at the window, as he settled himself in the corner of a first-class carriage.
"No, thank you." "Footwarmer, sir ?" said a porter, appearing in the news-vender's place.
"Ah, that's a good idea.

Yes, let me have a footwarmer." The footwarmer was brought, and Trefusis composed himself comfortably for his journey.

It seemed very short to him; he could hardly believe, when the train arrived in London, that he had been nearly three hours on the way.
There was a sense of Christmas about the travellers and the people who were at the terminus to meet them.

The porter who came to the carriage door reminded Trefusis by his manner and voice that the season was one at which it becomes a gentleman to be festive and liberal.
"Wot luggage, sir?
Hansom or fourweoll, sir ?" For a moment Trefusis felt a vagabond impulse to resume the language of Smilash and fable to the man of hampers of turkey and plum-pudding in the van.