CHAPTER XV
The anger which had been in Marcia's face died long before she crossed Seven Mile Creek. She became a trifle pale, a little drawn of feature, as though she had been through an ordeal, as if she had bid high on a long chance and lost. But her eyes, though fast on the road, showed a degree of speculation that does not come often to the blue eyes of a golden-haired girl; they were not hopeless or dismayed, and when she reached the place where she had been stalled she did not turn into the road that would take her back to Windigo Lodge, but kept right on to Pancake, stopped her car at the Commercial House where she registered and was given a room, and from there she telephoned to Mrs. Mason, at Windigo.
"This is Marcia," she said gaily. "John won't let me come back tonight, so I'm going to stay over—yes, he's awfully busy—yes, I'm with Miss Foraker—delightful—see you all tomorrow—"
She hung up the receiver and stepped out of the booth, her mouth set.
"What time is the train from the south due?" she asked Henry.
"Nine-ten," he replied.
"That is the only one today?"
"Only one since noon."
The early June moon hung over Pancake as the night train slid to a stop, glorifying the ugly little town, softening the bad lines of its flimsy buildings, toning down the
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