He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. It forbids—all sorts of things. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. For a moment she remained silent. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. " Jonathan raised his bludgeon, but controlled himself by a powerful effort. "I'll tell you," answered Jonathan, sternly. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake.
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