” “I will think of it,” she repeated. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. Melusine approached with caution and sat warily at one end, looking up at him expectantly. 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. I don’t know. "Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. I've a question to ask him.
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