If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. ‘It is nothing at all of the kind. She even touched lightly on her father’s unreasonableness. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. 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. . She had worried in fear that the excitement would be too much for him. She had heard the trader utter it many times. ‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. htm or 26596-h. " "Won't you take me?" "No; you must await my return here.
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