‘Parbleu,’ said Gerald. That’s my opinion, if you ask me. 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. Glancing towards him she saw that a shadow had fallen upon his face. He was a handsome man, and Lucy could see the strong resemblance of John to him. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair.
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