‘But that is easy. McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. ” “Why?” she asked. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. Profligate women are never reclaimed. "And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance. Grudgingly he admired her.
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