“Lord!” she said. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. " "I don't know," said McClintock. ” He was silent for a moment or two. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. Could you give me any references?” “There is Mr. Here goes. The signal of distress was evidently understood. “I say!” he said, without any movement. Her heart swelled to suffocation.
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