What are you after?’ ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back. 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. ‘Go then. Inside was the blue stone she had lost in the 1800’s. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room. He was vaguely uneasy; he knew not what about.
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