"Strange child!" said her mother again. "Strange child!"
Linked by nothing save a distasteful past, they sat together for an interval in constrained silence. Even at their friendliest, mother and daughter had lacked conversational small change. Presently Mrs. Fanshaw's roving eye encountered the dial of a train-indicator and brightened.
"The Shawnee Springs accommodation is on time for once," she announced.
Jean responded with sincerity that she was glad. That her own train was as plainly registered an hour late, with the equally obvious consequence that she must arrive after nightfall in a strange city, was unimportant.
Mrs. Fanshaw opened her hand-bag.
"Here is the price of your ticket to New York," she said, counting out the exact fare. "You had better buy it at once."
Jean did so. When she returned from the ticket-office her mother was smoothing the creases from a bank-note.
"Did they supply you with any money?" she asked cautiously.
"With two dollars."
"Is that all?"