"Enough," said Jack, recovering his composure. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. \"He's good-looking. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. 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. E. " "In what way, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, in astonishment.
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