Your disobedience be upon your own head. “I suppose a girl MUST be underpaid and sweated,” said Ann Veronica. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. “I knew that you waited at the farmhouse. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his.
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