"It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, contemptuously. 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. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Voilà tout. She did not forge a note. Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. "Heaven help us!" he exclaimed; "we were mad to neglect the old sailor's advice.
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