’ The girl bit her lip and backed a little, while her husband shifted to stand at her side. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left.
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