The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. He resumed his listening. " "No," replied Sir Rowland, who appeared completely prostrated. “What a hideous repertoire! If you are in earnest about wanting to earn money, why on earth don’t you accept an engagement here?” “An engagement?” she queried. . “Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. 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.
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