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 might even tire of me by then, you know. But about dat jonker," he continued, lowering his voice; "have you anything to add consarnin' him? It's almosht a pity to put him onder de water. She had come to the end of her resources. ‘Fiddle, Gerald. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered.
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