McClintock will have some. “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. . His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. Not a word passed between them. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. It has been very humiliating. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay.
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