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McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. "Don't you know me, mother?" "Ah!" shrieked Mrs.
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