The audience clapped more heartily. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. " "Is she alive?" repeated the widow. So she married him. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude.
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