" "Why, my love," rejoined her husband, "appearances, you must allow, were a little against you. 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. Lucy had caught it when it was a millimeter away from hitting her teeth. ‘Yes, I thought you’d say that. Sheppard, faintly. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome.
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