“How do you come here, then?”
“I am on my way to Clintondale.”
“Clintondale?”
“Pinewood Hall, you know. There—there is a four-hour wait here at Cincinnati, you know.”
“I did not know,” he rumbled forth. Then, like a flash, he demanded: “Who sent you here?”
This question took the last breath of wind out of Nancy’s sails. She had, through it all, believed that he might be glad to see her. But now she realized that the opposite was the truth.
“Nobody sent me,” she stammered.
“Not the woman at the other school—Miss—Miss Prentice?”
“No, sir. She does not know. I—I just wanted to see you.”
“What for?” he asked, in the same sudden, gruff way.