Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. ‘Me, I have a name. Wild here presently, and I wouldn't for the world—Zounds!" he exclaimed, as the figure of the thief-taker appeared at the wicket, "here he is. ” They returned to the Beck house and he walked her to the front door. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books.
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