He stood up abruptly and went to the window. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. I tell you that because it puts us on a footing. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. About noon, next day, he was able to move; and the gale having abated, he set out homewards with his little charge. He would have to return to Hong-Kong; and his trail would be picked up the moment he set foot on the Praya. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness.
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