A crisis of some kind was toward. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. . He was dressed immaculately in a suit of heavy Shantung silk. 148 “Sure. Everything was done in the most legal and imposing way, but the whole thing was a fraud.
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