It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. Why did the beggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all that civilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to see McClintock; and the sooner he came the better. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. For a moment she thought of saying yes, and then filled with shame. There were three exit doors.
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