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. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. ‘Now,’ she said, in an imperious manner that so much reminded him of Melusine that he was obliged to suppress a grin, ‘I can see you properly. ‘En tout cas, I have waiting for me a cavalier. We leave this room together. My late husband, I mean. “Think of what people will say!” That became a refrain. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. ‘I told you I could handle her.
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