For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. He filled the rôle of comrade which Spurlock dared not enact, at least not utterly as he would have liked. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. I am quite clear about this. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. "Attend to me, Mrs.
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