White, my landlady, believes his story. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. They began the evening like usual, driving down highways and byways.
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