e
corridor. Next moment Hawtrey and Sally approached the door, and as the
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 from going back for the mitten.

Hawtrey spoke to Sally, and there was no doubt whatever that he called
her "My dear." Filled with burning indignation, Agatha stood still for a
moment 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 recovered her outward composure, and they went on
together toward the track. As yet she was conscious only of anger at
Gregory's treachery. That feeling 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 where they loitered, and walked briskly up and down beside
the track until a speck of blinking light rose out of the white
wilderness. The light 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.

The locomotive 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. They drew nearer, and Agatha
set her lips tight as she recognized 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, admitted of only one explanation. Sproatly's diplomacy
had had a most unfortunate result, and she was sensible of an
intolerable disgust. She had kept faith with Gregory, at least as far as
it was possible, and he had utterly humiliated her. The affront he had
put upon her was almost unbearable.

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