She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. Twenty guineas, mind. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. " "Have you told her?" "Told her? Told her what?" Spurlock sat straight in his chair. . Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts. “I have heard of you, of course,” Anna answered hesitatingly, “but——” “You cannot imagine what I have come to see you about. I understand. This moment couldn’t be better until the next moment comes.
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