Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. 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. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. You have misunderstood. ‘As for what to do, I wonder if young Charvill would be worth a visit. You say that this gentleman was with you?” “I was,” Brendon answered, “most providentially.
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