" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. "Whatever you say—you, behind those stars there, if you are a God. 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. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. Manning, with a baffling smile. In addition, the Fadden Dance business, all out of proportion, occupied the whole foreground of her thoughts and threw a color of rebellion over everything. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. Montressor’s guests were. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. Try something. He held in his hands many threads.
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