The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. She was good to me for the two years I stayed with her, she had a nice apartment in Galveston. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. That dress! Only a man—and an unworldly one—would have permitted you to proceed on your adventure dressed in a gown thirty years out of date. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. Sheppard reached the debtor's garrison. “You are in trouble,” he said. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. She has given herself up to social work. I was engaged to dine with your sister and her husband, and I sent a wire. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. Rousing himself, he went to the door.
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