It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. She—She can snub him. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs.
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