She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. “Until a girl can go away as a son does and earn her independent income, she’s still on a string. 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. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. "You can do so. I'll send you word when I catch him. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror.
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