“Something _has_ happened. While you have been taking things for granted, Uncle Somerville has been at work day and night. He has built a track right across yours in that little valley, and he keeps a train of cars or something, filled with armed men, standing there all the time!” Winton gave a low whistle. Then he laughed mirthlessly. “You are quite sure of this?” he asked. “There is no possibility of your being mistaken?” “None at all,” she replied. “And I can only defend myself by saying that I didn't know about it until a few minutes ago. What is to be done? But stop; you needn't tell me. I am not worthy of your confidence.” “You are; you have just proved it. But there isn't anything to be done. The next thing in order is the exit of one John Winton in disgrace. That spur track and engine means a crossing fight which can be prolonged indefinitely, with due vigilance on the part of Mr. Darrah's mercenaries. I'm smashed, Miss Carteret, thoroughly and permanently. Ah, well, it's only one more fool for love. Hadn't we better go in? You'll take cold standing out here.” She drew herself up and put her hands behind her. “Is that the way you take it, Mr. Winton?” The acrid laugh came again. “Would you have me tear a passion to tatters? My ancestors were not French.” Trying as the moment was, she could not miss her opportunity. “How can you tell when you don't know your grandfather's middle name?” she said, half crying. His laugh at this was less acrid. “Adams again? My grandfather had no middle name. But I mustn't keep you out here in the cold talking genealogies.” His hand was on the door to open it for her. Like a flash she came between, and her fingers closed over his on the door-knob. “Wait,” she said. “Have I done all this--humbled myself into the very dust--to no purpose?” “Not if you will give me the one priceless word I am thirsting for.” “Oh, how shameless you are!” she cried. “Will nothing serve to arouse the better part of you?” “There is no better part of any man than his love for a woman. You have aroused that.” “_Then prove it by going and building your railroad_, Mr. Winton. When you have done that--” He caught at the word as a drowning man catches at a straw. “When I have won the fight--Virginia, let me see your eyes--when I have won, I may come back to you?” “I didn't say anything of the kind! But I will say what I said to Mr. Adams. I like men who _do_ things. Good night.” And before he could reply she had made him open the door for her, and he was left alone on the square-railed platform. In the gathering-room of the private car Virginia found an atmosphere surcharged with electrical possibilities, felt it and inhaled it, though there was nothing visible to indicate it. The Rajah was buried in the depths of his particular easy-chair, puffing his cigar; Bessie had the Reverend Billy in the tete-a-tete contrivance; and Mrs. Carteret was reading under the Pintsch drop-light at the table.