"I wanted you to know. He turned to Ruth and McClintock. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. ‘He is not in England, you understand. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. " The doctor relaxed. 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. "You came hither under my protection, and you shall depart freely,—nay, more, you shall have an hour's grace.
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