There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. After class his routine was unchanged. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. But she did not speak. And what on earth do you want to darken your eyebrows and use so much make-up for at your age? You’re exactly twenty-three, and you’re got up as much as a woman of forty-five. Yes—as he would have liked. 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. Q. For a space he rode the whirligig. " "As you please," returned Jack, leaping up; "but I feel devilishly inclined to finish him. CHAPTER XIII. “It is unimportant,” she said.
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