"I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. ” She answered solemnly. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. ’ Gerald looked round. 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. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all.
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