As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burning in the study; so she stopped at the door. There was no point in rushing into the long walk home. “Kindly explain it to me. " "What did I say?" "Only one word," she said, offering her first white lie. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. 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. Yet here you are, and at precisely the right moment, too. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path.
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