"Your audacity passes belief," cried the latter, as soon as his surprise would allow him utterance. Manning. Too skilled to advertise their presence by a show of arms and men. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. 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. Forthwith he presented his card. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. “I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” He disregarded her entirely. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively.
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