Ingleby turned and glanced at the whirling haze that swept athwart the
light in the veranda.
"I'm afraid I must," he said. "It would be difficult to get off the
trail as far as the bakery, and there is apparently nothing I can do for
you here. Somebody lighted the fire?"
"One of the police troopers," said Grace. "That doesn't matter. It is
snowing harder than ever. You can't go away."
She had brushed aside the dictates of conventionality, and the blood was
in her face and a curious sparkle in her eyes. They had been close to
death together a little while ago, and it was a long way to the bakery.
Still, it was not this fact alone that impelled her to bid him stay.
"I'm afraid I must," he said slowly, as with an effort. "You see, there
is something I have to talk over with Leger. He expects me. Besides, it
would be advisable to send back any of the boys who may be there to see
what has become of the major."
Then he turned abruptly, and Grace, who had scarcely remembered the
major, laughed curiously when he went out of the door. She knew now, at
least, exactly what she felt for Ingleby, and had he stayed and declared
boldly what his wishes were, it is probable that Coulthurst would have
been astonished when he came home. Ingleby, however, had gone away, and
the girl was left standing, flushed in face, with the melting snow
dripping from her, beside the stove, which she remembered with some
little satisfaction was precisely what he had told her not to do. Then
with a little disdainful gesture she swept into the adjoining room.