Her little white hand stole across the table. It is useless to talk. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Both of them. I beg that you will consider me your friend. The doctor reached over and laid his hand upon Spurlock's heart. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. But I should certainly want to be rid of Mr.
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