Winton gave a low whistle. Then he laughed mirthlessly.

"You are quite sure of this?" he asked. "There is no possibility of
your being mistaken?"

"None at all," she replied. "And I can only defend myself by saying
that I didn't know about it until a few minutes ago. What is to be
done? But stop; you needn't tell me. I am not worthy of your
confidence."

"You are; you have just proved it. But there isn't anything to be
done. The next thing in order is the exit of one John Winton in
disgrace. That spur track and engine means a crossing fight which can
be prolonged indefinitely, with due vigilance on the part of Mr.
Darrah's mercenaries. I'm smashed, Miss Carteret, thoroughly and
permanently. Ah, well, it's only one more fool for love. Hadn't we
better go in? You'll take cold standing out here."

She drew herself up and put her hands behind her.

"Is that the way you take it, Mr. Winton?"

The acrid laugh came again.

"Would you have me tear a passion to tatters? My ancestors were not
French."

Trying as the moment was, she could not miss her opportunity.

"How can you tell when you don't know your grandfather's middle name?"