McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. To-night we leave for Marseilles. After all a thousand pounds is a trifle to rid you of an upstart, who may chance to deprive you of tens of thousands.
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