Miss Grierson drove on, and at the Iron Works there were more of the peaceful indications. The gates were open, and a switching-engine from the railroad yards was pushing in a car-load of furnace coal. By all the signs the trouble flood was abating.
Raymer saw her when she drove under his window and calmly made a hitching-post of the clerk who went out to see what she wanted. A moment later she came down the corridor to stand in the open doorway of the manager's room.
"I'm back again," she said, and her manner was that of the dainty soubrette with whom the audience falls helplessly in love at first sight.
"No, you're not," Raymer denied; "you won't be until you come in and sit down."
She entered to take the chair he was placing for her, and the soubrette manner fell away from her like a garment flung aside.
"You are still alone?" she asked.
"Yes; Griswold hasn't shown up since morning. I don't know what has become of him."
"And the labor trouble: is that going to be settled?"
He looked away and ran his fingers through his hair as one still puzzled and bewildered. "Some sort of a miracle has been wrought," he said. "A little while ago a committee came to talk over terms of surrender. It seems that the whole thing was the result of a—of a mistake."
"Yes," she returned quietly, "it was just that—a mistake." And then: "You are going to take them back?"