That evening, as the train wound steadily eastward into the shadows of the night, and they looked out in farewell upon the slopes they had last seen when a wintry gale swept fiercely over the frozen surface and the shallow ravines were streaked with snow, Kate Rayner, after a long talk with her husband, and abandoning her boy to the sole guardianship of his nurse, settled herself by Nellie's side, and Nellie knew that she either sought confidences or had them to impart. Something of the old, quizzical look was playing about the corner of her pretty mouth as her elder sister, with feminine indirectness, began her verbal skirmishing with the subject. It was some time before the question was reached which led to her real objective:
"Did he—did Mr. Hayne tell you much about Clancy?"
"Not much. There was no time."
"You had fully ten minutes, I'm sure. It seemed even longer."
"Four by the clock, Kate."
"Well, four, then. He must have had something of greater interest."
No answer. Cheeks reddening, though.
"Didn't he?"—persistently.
"I will tell you what he told me of Clancy, Kate. Mrs. Clancy had utterly deceived you as to what he had to tell, had she not?"
"Utterly." And now it was Mrs. Rayner's turn to color painfully.