There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. “Turn me. 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. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. This obstacle being removed, in his eagerness to proceed, he had forgotten to take his little charge with him. This is something above all rules. No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and even Gosse hesitated in the doorway.
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