Or perhaps it would happen quite differently. The man would not hear, or pretend not to hear; and he, John, would have to repeat his remark, losing greatly in dramatic force. And everyone would stare at him, as if he were a madman! Or the man would surrender his seat with a sweet smile and an apology, “Very sorry, I didn’t see”; and then the fools of women would refuse to take the seat. They would all say they were getting out at the next station; they would all simper and deprecate and behave like lunatics. The man would hover with a self-righteous, ingratiating smirk and sit down again. And John Egerton would look a fool. No⁠—it couldn’t be done. What cowards men were!

A very hot and spotty man breathed disgustingly in John’s face; unable to move his body, he turned his head away to the left. On that side stood a robust young woman, with hatpins menacingly projecting from a red straw hat. Her head rocked as the train jolted: the cherries on her hat bobbed ridiculously, the naked hatpin-points swung backwards and forwards in front of John’s eye. He turned back to the disgusting breath of the spotty man.