"Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. Surely he was imagining this picture. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. McClintock liked it. “No thanks, Cathy.
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