“Stuffy these trees make the Avenue,” said Mr. ” A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John’s attention. . 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. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. ” “I cannot do it!” he cried hoarsely. "But, however, it may turn out, I disown you.
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