“Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. Time after time he sent Spurlock into this corner or that; but always the boy regained his feet before the murderous boot could reach the mark. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed. If he recovers he may not accuse her.
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