He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. And they admired Kent sedulously from the windows. He returned, blue towel in hand. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged. McClintock liked it. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. "Oh! Sir, if you'd seen her as I've seen her, you'd not wish her a continuance of misery.
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