” Diane purred. . ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. "I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. 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. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. “Is that plain?” she asked. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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