Then he had gone away. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. " "Sit down, my dear, sit down," interposed Mrs. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know.
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