why I called you up. I trust, madam, that I am mistaken."

"Yes," she said shrilly, betraying the intensity of her emotion.
It was as if she lacked the power to utter more than a single word,
which signified neither acquiescence nor approval.

He was ill-at-ease, distressed. "I have engaged a room for you at
the inn, Mrs. Wrandall. You did not bring a maid, I see. My wife
will come over from our place to stay with you if you--"

She shook her head. "Thank you, Mr. Drake. It will not be necessary.
I came alone by choice. I shall return to New York to-night."

"But you--why, you can't do that," he cried, holding back as they
started toward the door. "No trains stop here after ten o'clock.
The locals begin running at seven in the morning. Besides--"

She interrupted him. "May we not start now, Mr. Drake? I am--well,
you must see that I am suffering. I must see, I must know. The
suspense--" She did not complete the sentence, but hurried past
him to the door, throwing it open and bending her body to the gust
that burst in upon them.

He sprang after her, grasping her arm to lead her across the icy
platform to the automobile that stood in the lee of the building.

Disdaining his command to enter the tonneau, she stood beside the
car and waited until he cranked it and took his place at the wheel.
Then she took her seat beside him and permitted him to tuck the
great buffalo robe about her. No word was spoken. The man was a