“Delicious!” she murmured. Hope reared. “Annabel;” he moaned. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. He declined supper, but took wine. ’ ‘Married?’ ‘I did mention Madame Valade, did I not?’ At that, a growl of startling ferocity escaped her lips. He followed. Capes would come to these teas; he evidently liked to come, and he would appear in the doorway of the preparation-room, a pleasing note of shyness in his manner, hovering for an invitation. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour. But she could see that Diane watched her more closely now, and in a cat-like way.
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