“Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. His efforts at self-destruction were, however, prevented. Englishmen also certainly. The half-nude brown bodies of the crew informed Ah Cum that the schooner had come up from the South Seas. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. 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. Miss Stanley had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. Wasting no time, he crossed straight to the shutters and opened them. "I'm surprised you've not asked that question before, Sir Rowland. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street. His face was downcast.
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