The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. He would pick a random member of the ever-shifting household for the sake of example. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. The Dawn Pearl! To be with her constantly, with no diversions to serve as barricades! Damn McClintock for putting this thought in his head—that Ruth loved him! He flung himself upon the beach, face downward, his outflung hands digging into the sand: which was oddly like his problem—he could not grip it.
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