‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. She fled. We hide it bravely, but so it is. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. ” She looked down on him thoughtfully, and he let his admiration of her free young poise show in his face. Sheila found out. It’s on the horse. As Spurlock called her name, she paused and turned. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later.
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