" McClintock without further speech strode toward his bungalow; and half an hour later Spurlock, passing, heard the piano-tuning key at work. Of course there were goats. ’ Hilary’s jaw dropped open, and he stood stupidly staring, the nun’s clothing dangling from his hand. " "Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear. “I’ll go,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall find you out. Too much, perhaps. 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. ‘I have told you, a whip it is nothing.
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