There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. He filled the rôle of comrade which Spurlock dared not enact, at least not utterly as he would have liked. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her. But at the word “home” she turned again. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. Would there be enough in the young man's envelope to pay the doctor and the hotel bill—and in the event of his death, enough to ship the body home? So all things pointed to the happy circumstance of setting this young fool upon his feet again, of seeing him hence upon his journey.
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