There came to Spurlock the recurrence of the grim resolution of what he had set out to do: that comradeship was all he might ever give this exquisite creature; for she was exquisite, and in a way she dominated this picture of sea and sky and sail. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry. . . If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat.
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