” “John, do you remember me at all?” “Lucy?!” He cried in disbelief. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness.
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