Sproatly exchanged a significant glance with Hastings, whose face once more grew thoughtful.
“Then,” remarked Hastings, “if he’s wise he’ll stop at that.”
Mrs. Hastings changed the subject, and drew her chair closer in to the stove, which snapped and crackled cheerfully.
“It must be a lot colder where Harry is,” she said with a shiver.
She flashed a swift glance at Agatha, and saw the girl’s expression change, but Sproatly broke in again.
“It was bad enough driving in from the railroad this afternoon,” he said. “Winifred was almost frozen. That is why I didn’t go round for the pattern mat—I think that’s what Creighton said it was—Mrs. Creighton borrowed from you. I met him at the settlement a day or two ago.”
Mrs. Hastings said that he could bring it another time, and while the rest talked of something else Winifred turned to Agatha.
“It really was horribly cold, and I almost fancied one of my hands was frost-nipped,” she said. “As it happens, I can’t buy mittens like your new ones.”
“My new ones?” questioned Agatha.