He looked at the plump, sleek hand of the woman with the Roman nose.

The insulation and complacency of its pale skin, the passive righteousness about its curve, the prim separation from the others of the fat little finger, had acquired a wholly unaccountable importance.
It embodied the verdict of his fellow-passengers, the verdict of Society; for he knew that, whether or no repugnant to the well-bred mind, each assemblage of eight persons, even in a third-class carriage, contains the kernel of Society.
But being in love, and recently engaged, Shelton had a right to be immune from discontent of any kind, and he reverted to his mental image of the cool, fair face, quick movements, and the brilliant smile that now in his probationary exile haunted his imagination; he took out his fiancee's last letter, but the voice of the young foreigner addressing him in rapid French caused him to put it back abruptly.
"From what she tells me, sir," he said, bending forward to be out of hearing of the girl, "hers is an unhappy case.

I should have been only too glad to help her, but, as you see"-- and he made a gesture by which Shelton observed that he had parted from his waistcoat--"I am not Rothschild.

She has been abandoned by the man who brought her over to Dover under promise of marriage.

Look"-- and by a subtle flicker of his eyes he marked how the two ladies had edged away from the French girl "they take good care not to let their garments touch her.