"Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland. It was Celeste’s idea. But if you do not leave this room I must. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. Dear God, what a beautiful moment!" The fire went out of Spurlock's eyes and the shadow of hopeless weariness fell upon him.
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