CHAPTER XV. Ann Veronica said she didn’t care. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. " "But, man, this chap hasn't fallen soft. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. And this though he was evidently passionately in love with her. 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. Got the day off. He went to the door.
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