“I say!” he cried. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Even Ah Cum had resumed his Oriental shell of reserve. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. ’ ‘That,’ said Gosse, ‘is a matter of opinion. The shock and distress were genuine. She gathered stones to place upon the makeshift grave.
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