“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. . " "That was my doing, dearest," urged the carpenter; "I was afraid if you saw her that some such scene as this might occur. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. God knows how you did it. She was, by certain signs, charged with anger, but she saw upon the faces of these two young fools the look of angels and an ineffable kindness breathed upon her withered heart. ” “Never,” he exclaimed vehemently. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself.
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