“But, my dear girl, it has cost you at least five hundred dollars—­”

“What a marvelous sunset we had this evening, Mr. Daney.  Did you observe it?  My father always maintained that those curious clouds predicated sou’west squalls.”

“I didn’t come here, girl, to talk about sunsets.  You’re foolish if you do not accept—­”

The outcast of Port Agnew turned upon Mr. Daney a pair of sea-blue eyes that flashed dangerously.

“I think I have paid my debt to the McKayes,” she declared, and in her calm voice there was a sibilant little note of passion.  “Indeed, I have a slight credit-balance due me, and though Mrs. McKaye and her daughters cannot bring themselves to the point of acknowledging this indebtedness, I must insist upon collecting it.  In view of the justice of my claim, however, I cannot stultify my womanhood by permitting the McKaye women to think they can dismiss the obligation by writing a check.  I am not an abandoned woman, Mr. Daney.  I have sensibilities and, strange to relate, I, too, have pride—­more than the McKayes I think sometimes.  It is possible to insult me, to hurt me, and cause me to suffer cruelty, and I tell you, Mr. Daney, I would rather lie down and die by the roadside than accept one penny of McKaye money.”

Mr. Daney stared at her, visibly distressed.

“Why, what’s happened?” he blurted.

She ignored him.

“I repeat that The Laird owes me nothing—­not even his thanks.  I met him one night with Mrs. McKaye on the hospital steps, and he tendered me his meed of gratitude like the splendid gentleman he is.”

“Oh, I see!” A great light had suddenly dawned on Mr. Daney.  “The Laird led trumps, but Nellie McKaye revoked and played a little deuce?”

“Well, Mr. Daney, it seemed to me she fumbled the ball, to employ a sporting metaphor.  She bowed to me—­like this—­and smiled at me—­like that!” Her cool, patronizing nod and the sudden contraction and relaxation of Nan’s facial muscles brought a wry smile to old Daney’s stolid countenance.  “Even if I felt that I could afford to or was forced to accept reimbursement for my expenses and lost time,” Nan resumed, “her action precluded it.  Can’t you realize that, Mr. Daney?  And Jane and Elizabeth went her one—­no, two—­better.  I’m going to tell you about it.  I went up-town the other day to send a telegram, and in the telegraph-office I met Donald’s sisters.  I knew they would not care to have me speak to them in public, so, when the telegrapher wasn’t looking at me and intuition told me that Elizabeth and Jane were, I glanced up and favored them with a very small but very polite smile of recognition.”

“And then,” quoted Mr. Daney, reaching into his ragbag of a mind and bringing up a remnant of Shakespeare, “’there came a frost—­a killing frost!’”

“Two hundred and forty-five degrees below zero, and not even a stick of kindling in the wood-box,” she assured him humorously.  “They looked at me, through me, over me, beyond me—­”