” “Yes,” said Mr. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. “We don’t want things to happen!” Never had he shown his daughter so clearly that the womenkind he was persuaded he had to protect and control could please him in one way, and in one way only, and that was by doing nothing except the punctual domestic duties and being nothing except restful appearances. It'll be advertised to-morrow. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. ” She shivered. Besides, she had admitted her identity. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. ’ ‘Ah, you know about that, then?’ ‘That much, yes. You are you. Blueskin will go with you,—for fear of a mistake.
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