“Yes, as soon as I fasten my gloves.  Anyway, Lee, you can take her to Kennard if you want to.  It’s because you’re just obstinate.  Besides, she didn’t have to come up here; I told her so; I could have got along without her—­much better, probably, for she’s always finding fault; she came on her own responsibility and so can look out for herself; and if you’re so anxious for fear she’ll freeze, why, take her.  It won’t make any difference about your ditch that I can see, for you say you’ll very likely lose it, anyway.  Now you’ll have to excuse us; we’re going.  Blow out the light, please, and lock the door, our hands are full.  Give the key to Imo to keep.”

Two minutes later Gretzinger’s car was gone with a swirl of the headlights as it circled and with a sudden roar of its exhaust.  Lee extinguished the light and closed the cabin.  To him that little house seemed poignant with tragedy; and he knew, whatever came, his foot would never be set in it again.

He found Imogene sitting beside her sheet-iron stove, wrapped in a quilt and coughing.

“I heard your car come after his; I knew it was you,” she greeted him.

Lee regarded her closely.

“You’re sick,” he said.  “You ought to be in bed.  Ruth stated that you had a headache and now I discover you in a coughing fit bad enough to take off your head.  Is your throat sore?”

“A little.”

“Why in the name of all that’s sensible haven’t you gone to your uncle’s?  I begin to think you’re unbalanced.”

“I explained my reasons once, Lee.”  She coughed again, then continued, “Ruth and I quarrelled Christmas because of actions of hers and aunt said she must leave the house.  That’s why you were not asked then.  But she made it up afterward and so I came when she did, for she was determined to live here where she could be free.  I just had to come.”

“And now she’s leaving you in the face of the worst storm this winter, the ingrate!” Bryant exclaimed.  “To-night’s work finishes her with me.  She may go to eternal damnation so far as I’m concerned.  I’m done!  She refused, she would have left you here to freeze, she set your life against her convenience!  And after you had sacrificed your comfort and undergone hardships to save her good name!  There’s no limit to her selfishness and miserable hypocrisy.  Our efforts and consideration haven’t restrained her a particle, and she will tread the road she chooses irrespective of our desires or feelings.  What fools we’ve been!  You and I, Imogene Martin, aren’t going to chase a will-o’-the-wisp any longer.  We’ve wasted enough time on this delusion of saving Ruth Gardner; if she’s to be saved, she must save herself—­and if she will not do that, then the whole world together is of no avail.  You’re never going to come here again, or have anything to do with her, or let her have a part in your life.  Nor am I. She walks out of our book, and we draw a pen across the bottom of the page.”