The door was then locked, and he was left alone. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words. She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. The Vorsack house bore the stamp of Diane in every visible spot. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. “You know about my scandalous past?” “Very little.
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