“You see, I will take your arm. \"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him. 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. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then.
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