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. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. ” “But why?” “He’s married—and, I believe, living separated from his wife. "There'll be a louder echo here presently," thought Jonathan. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace.
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