’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. . If you ask me, you’ll have to beat her regularly if you don’t want to live a dog’s life. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone. 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. All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement.
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