upon collecting it. In view of the justice
of my claim, however, I cannot stultify my womanhood by permitting the
McKaye women to think they can dismiss the obligation by writing a
check. I am not an abandoned woman, Mr. Daney. I have sensibilities
and, strange to relate, I, too, have pride--more than the McKayes I
think sometimes. It is possible to insult me, to hurt me, and cause me
to suffer cruelty, and I tell you, Mr. Daney, I would rather lie down
and die by the roadside than accept one penny of McKaye money."

Mr. Daney stared at her, visibly distressed.

"Why, what's happened?" he blurted.

She ignored him.

"I repeat that The Laird owes me nothing--not even his thanks. I met
him one night with Mrs. McKaye on the hospital steps, and he tendered
me his meed of gratitude like the splendid gentleman he is."

"Oh, I see!" A great light had suddenly dawned on Mr. Daney. "The
Laird led trumps, but Nellie McKaye revoked and played a little
deuce?"

"Well, Mr. Daney, it seemed to me she fumbled the ball, to employ a
sporting metaphor. She bowed to me--like this--and smiled at me--like
that!" Her cool, patronizing nod and the sudden contraction and
relaxation of Nan's facial muscles brought a wry smile to old Daney's
stolid countenance. "Even if I felt that I could afford to or was
forced to accept reimbursement for my expenses and lost time," Nan
resumed, "her action precluded it. Can't you realize that, Mr. Daney?
And Jane and Elizabeth went her one--no, two--better. I'm going to
tell you about it. I went up-town the other day to send a telegram,
and in the telegraph-office I met Donald's sisters. I knew they would
not care to have me speak to them in public, so, when the telegrapher
wasn't looking at me and intuition told me that Elizabeth and Jane
were, I glanced up and favored them with a very small but very polite
smile of recognition."

"And then," quoted Mr. Daney, reaching into his ragbag of a mind and
bringing up a remnant of Shakespeare, "'there came a frost--a killing
frost!'"

"Two hundred and forty-five degrees below zero, and not even a stick
of kindling in the wood-box," she assured him humorously. "They looked
at me, through me, over me, beyond me--"

"And never batted an eye?"

"Not even the flicker of an eyelash."

His canine loyalty bade Mr. Daney defend The Laird's ewe lambs.

"Well, maybe they didn't recognize you," he protested. "A good deal of
water has run under a number of bridg