Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. “No,” said Ann Veronica, “but I want to know. 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. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause. ” She looked up at him quickly. Pardon what I have said, Madam.
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