Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. “He does not come here,” she exclaimed, quickly. And Pottiswick, of course. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. It was as though he were personally aggrieved. She was on the rim of civilization, entering, as Spurlock was on the rim, preparing to make his exit. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. "I don't believe McClintock would have gone into convulsions at the sight of it.
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