McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. He took up his hat and went. Sheppard, with startling eagerness. He had been gone entirely one day, for yesterday afternoon he had departed from Remenham House, and she had waited with patience like a saint, and now it was again the afternoon. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. "Yale!" Spurlock's gaze shifted to the dead hills beyond the window; when it returned to the Chinaman there was astonishment instead of interest: as if Ah Cum had been a phantom a moment since and was now actually a human being.
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