I did not know what I was saying. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. 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.
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