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But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. “Don’t we all rather humbug about the coarseness? All we women, I mean,” said she. ’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse. . But I shan't let him off thus. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. She moaned as she touched him. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. "I am accounted a fair shot, as well as a tolerable swordsman, and I will give proof of my skill in both lines, should occasion require it. Larry kept digging heartily into his spaghetti, not intrigued in the slightest.
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