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 deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. ‘This journey I do not like,’ she said more loudly. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. "Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner," was the comment of Prudence. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps.
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