In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this. "I haven't any answer for that; but I'm going back after 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. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters.
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