’ A radiant smile dawned. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. Before ever I knew you. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. He had only to recall this fact (which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not go around or over. All this was the work of a minute. It felt too good. ‘Merci,’ Melusine said, and smiled. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good.
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