"I don't think there'll be a blizzard. Or if there is, she can get along comfortably till her uncle comes."
"Are you ready, Ruth?" Gretzinger asked, impatiently.
"Yes, as soon as I fasten my gloves. Anyway, Lee, you can take her to Kennard if you want to. It's because you're just obstinate. Besides, she didn't have to come up here; I told her so; I could have got along without her—much better, probably, for she's always finding fault; she came on her own responsibility and so can look out for herself; and if you're so anxious for fear she'll freeze, why, take her. It won't make any difference about your ditch that I can see, for you say you'll very likely lose it, anyway. Now you'll have to excuse us; we're going. Blow out the light, please, and lock the door, our hands are full. Give the key to Imo to keep."
Two minutes later Gretzinger's car was gone with a swirl of the headlights as it circled and with a sudden roar of its exhaust. Lee extinguished the light and closed the cabin. To him that little house seemed poignant with tragedy; and he knew, whatever came, his foot would never be set in it again.
He found Imogene sitting beside her sheet-iron stove, wrapped in a quilt and coughing.
"I heard your car come after his; I knew it was you," she greeted him.
Lee regarded her closely.
"You're sick," he said. "You ought to be in bed. Ruth stated that you had a headache and now I discover you in a coughing fit bad enough to take off your head. Is your throat sore?"
"A little."
"Why in the name of all that's sensible haven't you gone to your uncle's? I begin to think you're unbalanced."