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.