The young ladies in the somewhat mixed society amongst which he moved neither satisfied his taste nor appealed in any way to his affections. ’ It seems that I was mistaken. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. "What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony.
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