‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. He went to the door. 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. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. The Pursuit 425 XXV. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. “Will you come round to the hospital?” he asked. I did not know what God had in mind then.
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