She drove home next day, and on the following morning a man who was driving in to Lander's brought Mrs. Hastings a note from Sproatly. It was very brief, and ran:
"Gregory arrived same night by Pacific train. It is evident he must have got off at the next station down the line."
"I'm afraid we have been too hasty. What am I to do with this?" she said.
Hastings smiled. "Since you ask my advice, I'd put it into the stove."
"But it clears the man. Isn't it my duty to show it to Agatha?"
"Well," said Hastings reflectively, "I'm not sure that it is your duty to put ideas into her mind when you can't be quite certain that she has entertained them."
"I should be greatly astonished if she hadn't," said the lady drily.
Hastings made a little whimsical gesture. "Oh," he said, "you'll no doubt do what you think wisest. In a general way, when you come to me for advice you have made your mind up, and only expect me to tell you that you're right."
Mrs. Hastings thought over the matter for another hour or two. For one thing, Agatha's quiet manner puzzled her, and she did not know that the girl had spent one night in an agony of anger and humiliation, and had then become sensible of a relief that she was ashamed of. There was, however, no doubt that while she blamed herself for it, and in some degree for what had happened, she did feel relief. She was sitting alone for the time being beside the stove in a shadowy room while the light died off the snowy prairie outside, when Mrs. Hastings came softly in and sat down beside her.
"My dear," she said, "it's rather difficult to speak of, but that little scene at the station must have hurt you."
Agatha looked at her quietly and searchingly, but there was only sympathy in her face, and she leaned forward impulsively.
"Oh," she said, "it hurt me horribly, because I feel it was my fault. I was the cause of it."
"If I had only been kinder to him he would, perhaps, never have thought of her. I must have made it clear that he jarred upon me. I drove him"--and Agatha turned her face away, while her voice grew a trifle strained--"into that woman's arms. No doubt she was ready to make the most of the opportunity."
Mrs. Hastings decided that the girl's scorn and disgust which had prompted the last outbreak were perfectly natural, but they were, as it happened, not quite warranted.