And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. “Annabel!” she exclaimed. The major hailed him with a show of relief.
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