Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. And she was as shrewd as they come. Spurling? Why, if Captain Sheppard should get off, it 'ud be fifty guineas out of my way. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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