‘Tell me what you know of Miss Charvill?’ he ordered severely. An ancient smile lay on his lips. . He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image.
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