There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. “Useless—worse than useless. We all love you dearly. "But, I say, that girl is a queer one. ‘I have an excellent excuse to remain comfortably ensconced in my parlour here, able to indulge in my favourite pastime. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment. “If you speak—farewell.
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