She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. "What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony. He hoped he would get to see the two suitors face off over Lucy. You mustn't go by what you read so much as by what you see and hear. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. G.
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