"I see," said Flora, after a moment. "You mean the ill wind favoured Alix, eh?"
Charlie's round face was unsmiling as he stared hard at the fire.
"I wonder—" he began, and then checked the words.
"Don't you worry about Alix," said Flora. "She's nobody's fool."
"I wasn't thinking of Alix just then," said Charlie.
II — The following morning, Courtney went, as was his custom, to the postoffice. He had arranged for a lock-box there. His letters were not brought up to the Tavern by old Jim House, the handy-man.
The day was bright and clear and cold; the gale had died in the early morning hours. Alix Crown's big automobile was standing in front of the post-office, the engine running. Catching sight of it as he left the Tavern porch, he hastened his steps. He was a good two hundred yards away and feared she would be off before he could come up with her. As he drew near, he saw the lanky chauffeur standing in front of the drug store, chatting with one of the villagers.
Alix was in the post-office. As he passed the car, he slackened his pace and glanced over his shoulder into the tonneau. The side curtains were down. A low growl greeted him. He hastened on.
She was at the registry window.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, extending his hand and searching her face as he did so for signs of a sleepless night.