“I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. "What can it matter to you whether he returns or not, child," rejoined Mrs. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. He was disquieted. You will join a world of fashion, a world of wealth, a life of ease. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong.
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