Both Spurlock and McClintock stood by their chairs until she was gone. As he crossed the cellar, he passed so near to Jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture that he almost touched him. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. By the by, Mr. Wild is sure to be up. Nor was Jack by any means the only stripling in the room. You must live for me. 'Received from Sir Rowland Trenchard, 15,000 £.
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