" "Mine is Howard Spurlock. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie. It was Annabel who spoke. "What is it you want of me?" "All you know about this young fellow Spurlock.
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