Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. ’ Gerald considered.
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