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. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Without a word, the general reached out and took them, but his glance searched the girl’s face. ‘You don’t even know what it means, do you?’ Melusine frowned. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it.
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