And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. You want to think for a time, to be free for a time. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. The boy was right. Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself.
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