About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. Do you mean to tell me you didn’t understand why I wanted you to come here?” “Not a bit of it,” said Ann Veronica stoutly. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man.
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