He smiled tenderly. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. “Well, lodgings and things! And I paid my fees at the College. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed.
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