She turned there and beckoned. It is simply our point of view which is altogether different. “Am I dull?” she said. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him. He smiled grandly; she could feel the radiance of his approval from across the wedding table.
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