It was the afternoon of the day before Christine's night visit to Sidney.
The office had been closed, owing to a death, and Palmer was in possession
of a holiday.

"Come on," he coaxed. "We'll go out to the Climbing Rose and have supper."

"I don't want to go."

"That's not true, Grace, and you know it."

"You and I are through."

"It's your doing, not mine. The roads are frozen hard; an hour's run into
the country will bring your color back."

"Much you care about that. Go and ride with your wife," said the girl, and
flung away from him.

The last few weeks had filled out her thin figure, but she still bore
traces of her illness. Her short hair was curled over her head. She
looked curiously boyish, almost sexless.

Because she saw him wince when she mentioned Christine, her ill temper
increased. She showed her teeth.

"You get out of here," she said suddenly. "I didn't ask you to come back.
I don't want you."

"Good Heavens, Grace! You always knew I would have to marry some day."

"I was sick; I nearly died. I didn't hear any reports of you hanging
around the hospital to learn how I was getting along."

He laughed rather sheepishly.

"I had to be careful. You know that as well as I do. I know half the staff
there. Besides, one of--" He hesitated over his wife's name. "A girl I
know very well was in the training-school. There would have been the devil
to pay if I'd as much as called up."