But probably not the truth. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. Of course, it really signified nothing in this careless part of the world that she was travelling alone. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it.
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