” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. 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. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. Lucy replied, \"My hair has a mind of its own.
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