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. It hardly served his interests. Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. Dump popped his head into the cage. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. “What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. ” “Again,” he said, “I am going to be impertinent.
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