Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. 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. ” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. Wood from pressing his suit long ago. You Ann Veronica?” “Rather! I say—did you marry Gwen?” “Yes. ” An awkward moment of silence followed.
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