CHAPTER XXIII. "Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. 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. Another instance was that of Toby Tanner—" "No more of this," interrupted Trenchard; "where is the boy?" "Not far hence," replied Wild.
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