She talked a great deal with Delaine, and Mariette held a somewhat acid dispute with her on modern French books--Loti, Anatole France, Zola--authors whom his soul loathed.
But the day had forged a lasting bond between Anderson and Elizabeth, and they knew it.
* * * * * The night rose clear and cold, with stars shining on the snow.

Delaine, who with Anderson had found quarters in one of Laggan's handful of houses, went out to stroll and smoke alone, before turning into bed.

He walked along the railway line towards Banff, in bitterness of soul, debating with himself whether he could possibly leave the party at once.
When he was well out of sight of the station and the houses, he became aware of a man persistently following him, and not without a hasty grip on the stout stick he carried, he turned at last to confront him.
"What do you want with me?
You seem to be following me." "Are you Mr.Arthur Delaine ?" said a thick voice.
"That is my name.

What do you want ?" "And you be lodging to-night in the same house with Mr.George Anderson ?" "I am.

What's that to you ?" "Well, I want twenty minutes' talk with you," said the voice, after a pause.