"Yes," he said between his teeth. "Very well; what do you wish to know?" "Only one thing.... Do you--care for him?" She sat, minute after minute, head bent, thinking, thinking. He never moved a muscle; and at last she lifted her head. "No," she said. "Could you care for--me?" She made a gesture as though to check him, half rose, fell back, sat swaying a moment, and suddenly tumbled over sideways, lying a white heap on the rug at his feet. CHAPTER XX IN SEARCH OF HERSELF As his train slowed down through the darkness and stopped at the snow-choked station, Duane, carrying suit-case, satchel, and fur coat, swung himself off the icy steps of the smoker and stood for a moment on the platform in the yellow glare of the railway lanterns, looking about him. Sleigh-bells sounded near--chiming through the still, cold air; he caught sight of two shadowy restive horses, a gaily plumed sleigh, and, at the same moment, the driver leaned sideways from her buffalo-robed seat, calling out to him by name. "Why, Kathleen!" he exclaimed, hastening forward. "Did you really drive down here all alone to meet me?" She bent over and saluted him, demure, amused, bewitchingly pretty in her Isabella bear furs: "I really did, Duane, without even a groom, so we could talk about everything and anything all the way home. Give your checks to the station agent--there he is!--Oh, Mr. Whitley, would you mind sending up Mr. Mallett's trunks to-night? Thank you _so_ much. Now, Duane, dear----" He tossed suit-case and satchel into the sleigh, put on his fur coat, and climbing up beside Kathleen, burrowed into the robes. "I tell you what," he said seriously, "you're getting to be a howling beauty; not just an ordinary beauty, but a miracle. Do you mind if I kiss you again?" "Not after that," she said, presenting him a fresh-curved cheek tinted with rose, and snowy cold. Then, laughing, she swung the impatient horses to the left; a jingling shower of golden bell-notes followed; and they were off through the starlight, tearing northward across the snow. "Duane!" she said, pulling the young horses down into a swift, swinging trot, "_what_ do you think! Geraldine doesn't know you're coming!" "Why not?" he asked, surprised. "I telegraphed." "Yes, but she's been on the mountain with old Miller for three days. Three of your letters are waiting for her; and then came your telegram, and of course Scott and I thought we ought to open it." "Of course. But what on earth sent Geraldine up the Golden Dome in the dead of winter?" Kathleen shook her pretty head: