" "What do you mean, Sir?" asked Trenchard. “‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. She gloried in it: he needed her. ‘Typical. To-day is for the sights; the other three days—lessons. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. I’m not that sort I quite agree. 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.
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