“Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. You must let me do whatever I can for you. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. The blow was scarcely dealt, when, with a bound like that of a tiger, Blueskin sprang upon him. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation.
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