“John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. 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. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. She made herself a private declaration of liberty. ‘Rather would I die than fall in with such a plan. "Keep a sharp look out, Bess. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. ‘What can I do, miss?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ cried Melusine.
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