" "But a man may love his wife!" cried Spurlock, utterly bewildered. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. Some one may observe us. ‘You are rude, and stupide, and altogether a person with whom I do not wish to speak. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. He stood back and held her shoulders. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir.
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