light fell upon them the blood surged into
Agatha's face, for she remembered the embarrassment in Sproatly's
manner, and that he had done all he could to prevent her going back for
the mitten. Then Hawtrey spoke to Sally, and there was no doubt
whatever that he called her "My dear."

Agatha stood still a moment filled with burning indignation, and they
were almost upon her before she turned and fled precipitately down the
stairway. She felt that this was horribly undignified, but she could
not stay and face them. When she overtook the others she had, however,
at least recovered her outward composure, and they went on together
towards the track. As yet she was only sensible of anger at the man's
treachery. It possessed her too completely for her to be conscious of
anything else.

Cold as it was, there were a good many loungers in the station, and
Sproatly, who spoke to one or two of them, led his party away from the
little shed they hung about, and walked briskly up and down beside the
track until a speck of blinking light rose out of the white wilderness.
It grew rapidly larger, until they could make out a trail of smoke
behind it, and the roar of wheels rose in a long crescendo. Then a
bell commenced to toll, and the blaze of a big lamp beat into their
faces as the great locomotive came clanking into the station.

It stopped, and the light from the long car windows fell upon the
groups of watching fur-clad men, while here and there a shadowy object
that showed black against it leaned out from a platform. There was,
however, no sign of any passengers for the train until at the last
moment two figures appeared hurrying along beneath the cars. They drew
nearer, and Agatha set her lips tight as she recognised them, for the
light from a vestibule shone into Hawtrey's face as he half lifted
Sally on to one of the platforms and sprang up after her. Then the
bell tolled again, and the train slid slowly out of the station with
its lights flashing upon the snow.

Agatha turned away abruptly and walked a little apart from the rest.
The thing, she felt, only admitted of one explanation, and she did not
wish her companions to see her face for the next minute or two.
Sproatly's diplomacy had had a most unfortunate result, and she was
sensible of an almost intolerable disgust. She had kept faith with
Gregory, at least, as far as it was possible to her, and he had utterly
humiliated her. The affront he had put upon her