Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. “We parted— that night the best of friends. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads.
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