The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. Langley is getting up, and coming this way. I’ve got nothing to do for a month but think. ‘Aye, that she was. 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. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return.
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