The stranger with a bow returned to his table. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation. Silken open robes over full tiffany petticoats in a contrasting colour were, Lucy assured him, of the very latest Parisian design, cut by the finest French tailors. “You must not think of me as one. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. Even then it sent Spurlock spinning backward, to crash against the wall. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. ’ ‘Just what I thought, miss. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene.
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