Immediately behind this individual, came a pale, poverty-stricken woman, whose forlorn aspect contrasted strongly with his plump and comfortable physiognomy. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. After the dance, they went to a party. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. “Really, I do not know why I should have doubted it. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations. “They have just taken this house from Lady Cellender.
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