The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. ’ ‘Yes, but how are you going to find her?’ ‘I will ask—’ She broke off. Spurling, who sat on the right of the table. "Poor Mrs. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. What he there noticed occasioned a marked change in his demeanour. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. David Courtlaw.
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