Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. Melusine started back, blinking. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. 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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